Extraordinary
by Ava-001
Summary: Upon a disastrous shipwreck, Sinbad and his crew discover treasures and catastrophes in the unusual land of Kalaraq. However, there is far more to this country than meets the eye—dark secrets and legends that could bring it crumbling to its knees. Can he help save a girl and her world, or will he have to choose between them? "Protect this island. Promise me." Sinbad/OC.
1. Prologue

**IMPORTANT NOTE: UPDATEEEEEDDDDDDD! (again, i know, i'm sorry, i just have so many things i like adding in LMAO. SO yes. This is now a prologue as per the suggestions of my amazing reviewers! what used to be chapter 1 can now be found at the beginning of chapter 2 ;) )**

 **Blanket disclaimer: I do not own anything except my OCs, the countries, places, and plots that I've created on my own out of my lil ol' brain :)**

 _To my little sister and our grandfather._

* * *

 **EXTRAORDINARY**

Prologue

Prologue

 _Zahra_

 _Several years later... (major updated)_

And then Zahra finally opened her eyes. They stung, she noticed, and her hands immediately went to them to wipe out whatever made them burn. But to her surprise, she felt her hands spread something cool and wet across her skin instead. With tremulous breaths, she looked down at her quivering hands, and suddenly remembered her first night in the jungle. She remembered being just shy of eight years old. She remembered being so stunned with fear that her entire body refused to move.

Zahra craned her aching neck to scan her surroundings. She felt her hair, returning to their blackness, tumble across the bridge of her nose, down her cheeks, and over her shoulders. Ash hung from the strands, decaying and gray, some still burning orange along the edges. The crackles of scraps of fire, mere memories, began to ring with an agonizing sharpness in her ears. Fires were everywhere, she noticed. Flames danced on fallen palm trees, their trunks crisped and flaking before scattering into the dust-filled breeze like the seeds of dead dandelions. There was nothing left. No homes, no huts, no signs of civilization except for the bodies. Sparks flew from them—elders, adults, and children alike—strewn across the ground, severely burnt to the point of anonymity; they were unrecognizable. Zahra felt bile shudder in her stomach, the stench of death making her light-headed, queasy with repulsion.

The familiar sway of her robes returned to her jelly legs. She collapsed, suddenly, her knees smashing hard into the ashen ground, but she didn't care. Burns on her arms sent waves upon waves of shrieking pain across her skin, but she didn't care. Here senses were numbing. All she could see was him.

He was staring right back at her. His clothes were a mess. _So not like him_ , she thought. Once beautiful white and violet robes were singed and discolored to grays and browns, reduced to rags. Tanned skin smothered in blood and scrapes and bruises, hair matted with so much soot that not even a speck of royal purple was to be seen. But what horrified her the most was his eyes. Gold, true gold, gleaming with a different sense of awe. They didn't look at her the way they used to. Solomon, she missed the way he used to look at her, with fascination, curiosity, filled with the passion of adolescence. Now, those eyes were dripping with hurt. She could almost see memories galloping through them, piercing into his heart for the first time in so, so long. She could see the horror scribbled over his features, probably with disgust and loathing rather than pity and worry. It was unbearable. She wanted to go to him. She wanted to say she was sorry. She wanted to say an infinite amount of things—things she should've said, things she shouldn't have said—but she couldn't: she was paralyzed with fear. But she knew the source of her fear was different this time.

This time, she was afraid of herself.

She let herself go too far.

She let her fires run rampant.

Nobody was able to stop her this time.

Not even him.

"W-Where's the v-village?" Zahra managed to croak out, her voice raspy with dirt and the gasps of unbridled terror. "Where… where is i-it?" she asked again, knowing the true answer but earnestly, desperately praying for a lie.

"It's gone, Z," a familiar voice spoke sorrowfully. "It's all gone."

 _No. No, no, no. That can't be. There's no way. I couldn't have—I'm not capable of—I wouldn't…_

 _I would never…_

 _would I?_

 _… Did I…?_

Zahra's head fell, her gaze downturned to her bloodied hands once again.

 _What… what have I done?_

* * *

 **! PLEASE READ:**

 **I want to make a note about something important that I want to incorporate into my story. ART! I'm really into art and honestly I'm a pretty visual person, which is why I like to incorporate imagery into my art, and why I'm going to be drawing 'visual aids' to this story for you guys to see! It could be like a mini manga strip, or a scene from a chapter, or just OC sketches, you know?**

 **So my first drawing is my cover - that's my OC, Zahra. Please don't steal because I worked hard to draw it so thanks for not stealing :)**

 **deviantart(.com)/ada-01**

^remove the brackets lol sry fanfiction is being weird so i had to put them in.

 **If you don't know WHEN I'm going to post a new art piece(s), I will announce it in an actual story update (in other words, my story updates and art updates happen at the same time, and if you follow this story, you'll know both.)**

 **Also I know that my first two chapters are pretty short right now, but that's because I organized them funky and weird (it's hard to explain), so my third chapters and onwards are much longer. SO yeah, if it looks like my chapters r gonna look like this, TRUST they won't (ref chapter 3).**

 **OH and this is during AoS manga - you'll see what I mean soon.** **I'm trying. Bear with me here. Thanks loves.**

 **~ AVA**


	2. The Ruler of the Seven Seas

**wOOO updated a little (just cutting out unnecessary shiz)**

* * *

 **EXTRAORDINARY**

2

The Ruler of the Seven Seas

 _Zahra_

She could never handle heat very well.

Lying down in a clearing, hazy brown eyes stared up at the palm tree branches that nestled together like interlocking eyelashes. The scent of nature flooded through her nostrils—grass, dust, flora of all kinds surrounding the open space she lay in. She lay still as the environment enveloped her body, pulsing through her veins as if its essence was as vital to her life as her own blood. She could feel it in the way the breeze grazed her cheeks, tickling her skin and playfully tossing her hair across the sand.

A stray butterfly fluttered a landing on her ankle, its emerald wings opening and closing as it, too, embraced the high temperatures of the midday. Fingers of sunlight streamed through, sending sizzling heat to everything it could touch—the giant, jagged rocks, the _alocaj_ leaves that rustled in the wind, a tiny lizard that skittered across the sand, and one more thing…

Of course, herself.

She couldn't remember when exactly it was that she began to feel uncomfortable with the environment around her. Perhaps it was when sweat trickled from her eyebrows, down the sides of her face and onto the sweltering hot sand. Or, rather, perhaps it was when she began to feel as though someone was pressing a scalding piece of steel against the bared skin of her legs. The once kind and comforting rays of sunlight began to feel like deliberately destructive lasers, drilling holes of fire into her flesh. The breeze that once lapped at her immobile body had disappeared and left her cloaked in a blanket of miserably thick heat in its stead. Even the flora and fauna around her seemed to recede away into the distance, abandoning her in the furnace of a clearing.

She scrunched her eyes, her vision becoming increasingly blurry.

 _I wonder, if I die here, what will be the first thing to happen next?_

Her thoughts began to swarm and swim like a school of fish.

 _What was the name of that story? Ah, I just read it yesterday. Why can't I remember? Why can't I ever remember anything._

 _All of the men in that story died out of starvation, dehydration, and weariness from the lack of food and water in addition to the overwhelming presence of heat._

 _Oh, no wait. There was one man who survived._

 _I wonder how he did it. I don't believe he was anything special. Nobody is special enough to withstand the force of nature. That's what Father told me at least. Even that man could not have been strong enough._

 _I wonder how he did it._

It was really, really hot.

 _Could I do it? That would be nice. I would much prefer to survive this ordeal._

 _Still, I wonder. There were but two fates in the story, so which fate will be mine?_

She didn't even bother to shake these thoughts from her head. The heat was overwhelming everything exponentially, and she let it do as it wished. Remiss, she lay there, deep in her thoughts, permitting the rising temperatures to do its bidding.

 _Right. Fate. That's what the story was about. Why can't I remember the damn name?_

The blood in her body felt as though it was bubbling to a boil, and the bed of her tongue began to feel as dry as the earth she rested on. Her head started to pulse with pain, as though her body was making a vain attempt to expel all of the heat from her system. When she gingerly touched her hair, she felt the stickiness of sweat plastered amongst the strands, gluing them together in heavy chunks of black. As she urged her rebelling body to sit up, she squinted into the distance. A figure began to form before her eyes, but for all she knew, it was a heat-induced hallucination; a mirage.

"Hey! What're you—hey!" a familiar voice called out to the girl.

 _What a strange word: fate._

Before she could open her mouth to call back at what she now concluded was, indeed, a mirage, she felt her wrist collapse beneath her weight.

 _What a beautiful, unusual word for something so fucking stupid._

She was down on the sand once again, watching the palm trees hovering above disappear, fading away into a blindingly pure white.

 _Shit._

...

"Again, Pari?"

"I know, and I'm so sorry."

"Maybe she's out for good this time."

"Rohan! Don't say such things!"

"Sorry."

"She twitched!"

Eyes moved beneath their lids.

"I think she's waking up."

She felt her toes respond slightly, and she breathed deeply at the scent of spices and herbs. It took a Herculean amount of force to open her eyes, bit by bit. Faces came to focus above her instead of palm trees, and her stomach writhed at their expressions—particularly her mother's.

A shortened attempt at a defense, "I'm–"

"Save it, Zahra! This is the second time this week that Rohan found you nearly dead!" her mother scolded.

"I had to walk so far to find you, man," her brother sighed pitifully, "why would you wander for so damn long?"

"One of these days, Rohan is going to be a single child. One of these days, he's going to find you dead and—"

"Okay, Mother. I think she gets it," Rohan rescued her from another earful.

Zahra lay there flat on her back, again, as her brother and mother argued back and forth. Such squabbles were nothing she wasn't used to.

Sounds of movement on the other side of the room caught her attention.

Craning her neck, she saw that cascade of dark, curly hair that consistently reminded her that she had to stop causing so much trouble. It was a sight that she'd seen countless times, and every time she saw it, she was filled with a sense of foreboding that one day all of her mischief would end abruptly.

The nature of that end, however, was unbeknownst to her. Perhaps that was for the best.

Zahra watched as the man prepared a brown, somewhat aged cloth, folding unidentifiable herbs and waxes into it. She observed with a slight grin as he gently dipped it into a dark stone bowl, clear liquid dripping as he wrung out the extra fluid. He turned to walk back to her bedside.

They exchanged smiles, and he brought the cloth as well as the bowl next to her head, placing the latter on a worn wooden stool.

He folded the soaked cloth on her forehead, and Zahra melted at the cool, refreshing sensation. "Faraz—"

"It's ok," he interrupted.

"Seriously though, thank yo— "

"You don't have to thank me, Z."

Zahra looked up at him, his kelp-colored eyes kind and warm as they'd always been.

"Thank you," she thanked him anyways. Faraz said nothing. He only smiled as he daintily moved her hair away from her face.

"I'll take mom home," Rohan announced, his voice lowered considerably, "so come home soon, Zahra." The glance he gave Faraz was a tad crueller than intended.

"Your father is going to—"

"Okay, let's go, Mother," Rohan interrupted Pari once again, gently coaxing her out of the healing hut.

Zahra breathed a sigh of relief, her chest relaxing into the soft material she lay on. She looked up in search of Faraz's face, but it had disappeared. Pushing herself onto her elbows, she winced as pain shot through her head like an arrow. She glanced around at the contents of the hut. Glass bottles of herbs, flowers, and unrecognizable grains, sands, and nuts were organized in long shelves that stretched from wall to wall. Grinders, knives, and sieves scattered the tables, and burnished bronze pots and pans of all sorts hung from a cross-ceiling beam. She noticed that new bottles found a home on the shelves, their gold and silver embellishments glittering extravagantly against the musty wooden background. The scent of musk and spices and medicine filled the air of the mini-apothecary, and it sent chills down Zahra's spine. No matter how many times she visited it, it all always remained the same.

She spotted Faraz behind a cabinet, digging around for a mortar and pestle and a paper bag. Tugging at the tangles in her hair, she called out to him. "Hey, this is the last time."

Faraz stood up, gripping the paper bag; it crinkled audibly. "I don't understand why you never seem to take care of yourself," he muttered, his tone dyed with various colors of concern, disappointment, and a touch of admiration. "You know your body is weak against heat, and you still went to the southern sector," he began walking towards her side again.

"I'm sorry," Zahra said sincerely, intently watching as he emptied out tiny dried flowers into the mortar. A distressed look touched his gentle features, and Zahra couldn't help but feel pangs of guilt stab relentlessly at her stomach.

Faraz began grinding the flowers, adding drops of precious oils that he'd gathered from underneath the table Zahra rested upon. He didn't look up at her as he spoke, "You know, I'm jealous of you."

"Huh?"

"I mean," Faraz started, as he spooned out the paste from the mortar into a walnut-sized stone bowl, "I'm always in here studying and practicing, and you're out there breathing fresh air." Zahra's heart sank as he gently removed the cloth from her forehead, putting it aside.

"You're an incredible healer, though," she said as she swung her feet carefully over the side of the table, "and I'm going to be studying and practicing and everything with you in a few months, too."

Faraz nodded with a sigh. "It's going to be a long few months without you," he said as he gathered some of the scented paste onto his thumb.

"Can you last without me?"

"I think the question is, can you last without stepping outside?"

A pause.

"The outside world is beautiful."

"It's just our island."

"It's still beautiful," Zahra objected. The moss-eyed healer smiled thoughtfully and gently pressed his thumb to her forehead. She let her eyelids flutter closed as he spread the paste across her skin, and his other fingers traced her right cheek.

"I miss the days when we'd explore it together," he chuckled.

Zahra hopped off the table, and Faraz took her hand to place the small bowl, now lidded, in her palm. She looked up at him, and her face expressed something that the two no longer needed words to communicate nor understand. "Me too."

She gripped the stone container and stood on her toes to wrap her arms around the young man. Zahra grinned into his shoulder, realizing that he constantly smelt of pepper, musk, and baby's breath. She couldn't decide if such a smell was attractive or even remotely _good_ , but it always had a strange way of making her feel safe; it was almost angelic.

Falling back on her heels, she let her fingers gently slipped from his robes. The light dimmed in Faraz's eyes. Zahra could feel his airy gaze as she gathered her belongings in her leather satchel and began walking towards the door of the hut.

"Take me with you, one day."

Zahra looked back in surprise, the sun setting in the distance behind her.

With a mere few steps, she vanished from his sight. The ethereal smile across her lips had said everything she needed to say, and he had laughed to himself in response.

She said 'yes'.

 _Sinbad_

Reading waves was a talent that Sinbad grew to be immensely proud of. There was never a time when he couldn't comprehend each ripple and movement, every direction and future of the infinite folds of blue. From the moment he led his father to safe waters at the tender age of three, he had always been able to read the waves of any ocean, any person, any _thing_. He always just… understood.

That is until now.

There was a storm outside. It was a violent, wracking storm. It was merciless, cruel, and terrifyingly malevolent. The skies were as black as coal; not a single star in the sky promised a path to safety or the hope in a sailor's heart. The moon was hazed over, glowing dimly behind hurdles of thick clouds. The water most certainly had a mind of its own and climbed to the heavens above at levels that even the tallest towers couldn't reach. It hit the boat like boulders and boasted an immeasurable strength that pronounced mother nature as the true ruler of the seven seas.

In all their travels, Sinbad and his crew had never seen anything like it before.

"Ja'Far! Where's Kikiriku? Where's Rurumu?" bellowed Hinahoho, as he gripped the walls of the hulls, holding on tight to keep from being thrown right into the water.

"Inside the cabin! They're safe!" Ja'Far screamed back, yanking a giant rope that was much too large for him to handle. He clenched his jaw tight, hoisting the sail higher, desperate for the survival of the ship and its members. Hinahoho quickly rushed to the boy's aid and helped heave the rope, immediately forcing the sail to lift and fill with merciless wind.

In turn, the ship lurched heavily, and the figurehead pierced the dark waves that smacked the hulls with fervor and immense power. Hot, white lightning emblazoned the sky, and for a moment, it was as though the skies were as brilliant and beautiful as the robes of a king. A rolling thunder followed shortly, and it seemed to shake the entire ocean.

Mystras was gripping onto a mast, and gasped a little as his turban was blown right off his soaked head, disappearing into the night. His stomach twisted and turned with the motions of the boat, and the creaking, shuddering floorboards beneath him indicated that even the ship itself was struggling to hold its insides together.

"We're not surviving this one, are we?" he screamed to nobody in particular.

An arm swung heavily over his shoulder, and he glanced up in surprise at the boy staring firmly at him, "What do you mean, Mystras?" Sinbad asked. "You say it as if we're actually gonna die here!" the ex-knight looked up at him, and suddenly his doubts were blasted away by the wind like his turban was.

Sinbad released the grip on his friend and ran back towards the quarterdeck. Nearly slipping from his speed, he made his way to the ship's wheel. _How did this end up going so wrong?_ he thought to himself. The white sheets of relentless rain left his hair virtually black and plastered to his blazer, forehead, and neck. White knuckles gripped the wheel obstinately, and he groaned loudly as he put every ounce of his strength into turning it.

Hardly halfway of a full turn, he felt his heart drop: he was suddenly lifted into the air. The boat had dropped after crashing into a wave, He grit his teeth as he held onto the wheel to keep from flying away. Ja'Far, however, was not so fortunate, as he was thrown into the dark waters like a cannonball.

"Ja'Far!" screamed Mystras. Before either he or Sinbad could act, a large splash erupted in the water: Hinahoho went after him.

Sinbad's feet finally found the boat. However, just as he tried to regain his composure and balance, the ship tilted upwards to the black skies at an extreme angle, propelling him somersaulting backward to the end of the quarterdeck. He smacked the wooden walls sharply, and he gasped for misty air as the breath was knocked out of his lungs.

The world slowed for a moment. Raindrops froze mid-air and the creaking of the floorboards stretched for minutes instead of seconds.

 _"Sinbad."_

 _A voice?_ he thought. _From where?_

 _"Sinbad, my son."_

 _What?_

He turned his head back and forth, but all he saw was the world returning to its chaos.

"Hinahoho!" he heard Mystras cry. Stumbling to get up, Sinbad ran over to look down to the main deck. Mystras was watching as Hinahoho and an unconscious Ja'Far emerged from the water. Although strong, the Imuchakk warrior was gasping for air and struggling to stay above the violent surface.

"Throw me a rope! Quickly!" Hinahoho yelled, and Mystras quickly picked one up from the wet floorboards of the ship.

"Wait!" Sinbad thundered. "Djinn equip, Baal!" Soon enough, he was flying, and he swooped down to grab Hinahoho and Ja'Far at once. Wincing slightly at their combined weight, he carried them over the side of the ship, laying them down on the floorboards as carefully as he could.

After feeling the robust strength of the howling wind and how it almost mimicked the fists and kicks of a warrior, Sinbad grabbed a loose rope attached to the mast to stay steady in the air; he knew that even his powers were no match for the mighty storm.

 _Maybe I can take advantage of the lightning. If that's possible, I might be able to blow this storm apart!_ Sinbad thought to himself. _If only I could read the waves… why can't I read them? If only we could figure this out… if only…_

His rampaging thoughts were cut short as he unexpectedly felt himself succumb to gravity and was slammed into the mast. Severely dizzied and ears ringing, he looked down at Hinahoho who seemed to be holding his arms out to him.

"Jump!" he yelled.

"Sinbad, your Djinn equip!" Mystras panicked.

"It's gone!"

He felt his head go light, and his grip on the rope collapsed, the rough material slipping fell into a pair of muscular forearms. The adventurer looked down at his body and noticed that, indeed, his Djinn equip disappeared.

"Ah, no more magoi, huh? Fuck's sake," he mumbled, his vision fading slightly.

"Mystras, you've gotta get to the wheel! We have to steer out of this somehow!" Hinahoho glanced up, gesturing to the quarterdeck.

"On it!" Mystras' voice cracked, maybe with fear, maybe with determination, but probably a bit of both.

Sinbad felt his body slipping from his control and was enraged at it for being absolutely useless in such a dire situation. Suddenly, a transitory calm of the water sent a horrific alert of what was to happen jolting through his mind like a spear. His vision was failing rapidly, but nobody failed to see the massive wave building on the south side of the boat. It was pitch black, and several stories tall; nearly demonic.

 _If only my father were here._

Like the storm, everything went dark after that.

* * *

 **EDIT (KINDA IMPROTANT LOL): a voice calls out to Sinbad at sea. It says, "Sinbad" and then "Sinbad, my son." (**

Deviantart: **deviantart(.com)/ada-01**

 **~ AVA**


	3. Castaway

**HELLOO I wanted to say thank you so so much for the lovely reviews and faves and follows, I really appreciate them! :) Thanks guys - enjoy!**

* * *

 **EXTRAORDINARY**

3

Castaway

 _Zahra_

 _About 10 years ago…_

Libraries are miraculous things. One doesn't have to be a magnificent scholar or an accomplished philosopher to understand this fact. In some way or another, libraries can touch the heart of even the greatest fool to ever walk the earth. It is almost as if a library's air itself carries thousands of little whispers, gently brushing against the skin of its visitors, giggling into their ears with shrilled voices of excitement and wonder. Perhaps it's the words fluttering off pages, rushing by in great flocks to urge skeptics forward and discover more. Rather, perhaps it is the spirit of adventure coaxing one to reach out and read through every mark of ink.

The recognition of a book's power becomes obvious to all people. At some point in a person's lifetime, regardless of sex, race, education, class, or any other social divisions that have emerged in the world, this recognition eventually trudges along, and burrows itself into that person's mind. It's an inescapable truth. For some, it could be at their deathbeds, surrounded by their many wives, servants, and viziers. For others, it could be while bathing their infant in a cold bath of dirty water.

For a few, it is during their early childhood.

"Father," a girl, no older than seven, chirped outside large wooden doors. "This place is like a palace! Like the legendary Silver Palace!"

The towering man knelt beside his daughter. "It sure is, and do you know what's inside palaces?"

"Treasure?" her eyes shared the same sparkle as her father's.

"You bet," he swiped the girl's tiny nose with his finger. She giggled, clapping her hands together, springing on the balls of her bare feet with sheer anticipation. The man pushed the enormous door, and it opened with a thundering creak. He pushed until there was enough space for his child and himself to squeeze through. The girl squealed quietly and scampered through the opening.

Little did she know that those few inches of freedom led to an entire world that would change her life forever.

Her small jaw slacked with awe, and her breath caught in her throat. Her wide, chocolate-carob eyes blinked, as if she couldn't believe what they were seeing.

She was supremely impressed.

A giant dome loomed over her head, light streaming through its glass stained in the most stunning of pigments. They cast ethereally colored rays of light, dusting the innumerable shelves of books that filled every inch of the building. The different levels of the building were stacked like layers of a great, circular, hollowed out cake. They wrapped around the circumference of the dome, and it was as if she was staring into an enormous tunnel. There was a massive open space that the disks of floors left in the center of the room, where the patterns on the dome reflected directly onto the ground below. The girl stepped into the colorful glow gingerly, almost frighteningly. The colors of ripe cherries and lemons traced her cheeks, tickling them as she moved underneath the heavenly lights. To the left and right of the girl's position were two enormous rooms, filled with tables and chairs built from the finest imported wood and scattered with glowing kerosene oil lamps. However, it wasn't these rooms that she wanted to explore first.

For she was a girl who didn't beat around the bush.

"F-Father?"

"Yes, darling?" the man walked, his robes rustling softly in the silence of the library.

"Which book should I read?" a sense of dread began to rustle in her belly. There were just _so_ many books and ideas and discoveries oozing out of every inch in this place; how was she to know which one to pick?

"Anything you'd like."

"Can I go anywhere? Read anything?"

He gently placed his hand on her head. "Yes. Anywhere, and anything."

Without even offering a mere glance at her father, let alone a 'thank you', she ran off to the flight of stairs ahead of her. Her stubby little feet just couldn't keep up with the furious speed at which her mind was sprinting. The girl's father watched fondly as she slipped on the first few steps, then stubbornly picked herself up to continue her trek. Taking in the view of the library himself, whistling with admiration, he followed her.

Her parents used to tease her playfully, noting that despite her small size and cuteness, she had the strength, boldness, and cunning of a monkey. Her big eyes would flood with tears, presuming that her parents believed she looked like a monkey, in which her father would swoop her in his arms, proclaiming that she was the prettiest monkey the world had ever seen. This never stopped the crying, unfortunately.

Yet, at times like these, the girl reaped only good things from being similar to an ape.

She was practically flying to each level, a few strangers favoring her with smiles and several with scowls. After scaling about ten flights of stairs, thanks to her shockingly high endurance, she had managed to reach the top floor of the library; the quietest floor. However, after quickly skimming the area, she was pleasantly surprised to discover that there was only one other person there. He was a small, elderly man with a severely receding hairline, but was quickly identifiable with an incredibly long, white braid that trickled to the floor. The girl had caught herself staring at it several times, and in turn, inspected her own braids, dismayed to discover that they weren't even a fourth the size of the man's.

After going through each shelf, zig-zagging between stacks and stacks of leather and paper and ink and silk string that towered ominously over her, the girl managed to fix her eyes on one particular book. She stopped in her tracks as she craned her neck towards it. It was huge, at least a thousand pages long, and its spine shimmered with gold flakes that were chipping away from age. Light like sparkling tourmaline seeped through from the dome, illuminating that one book as if it was a message or sign from Solomon himself.

It was truly attractive, but it was also at the very top shelf.

This is where her 'giant monkey brain', as her father put it, came into good use.

Climbing, in addition to long-distance running, had become one of her special strengths even at such an early age. She'd climb trees and rocks with the power in her legs, and her toes and fingers always had a clever, instinctual method of knowing exactly which branch or pebble to grab. However, she knew that climbing was not an option in this particular case. The shelf was too thin, and surely, her weight would bring it toppling down. So, she twisted her body this way and that, her two pigtails of three braids each brushing her shoulders as she did. She pouted, earnestly searching for an alternative method to get to that top shelf.

Then, she spotted it, the answer to her prayers—a ladder. It's steel shimmer danced under the light, and Zahra always had a love of shiny things.

With a puff of confidence in her chest, she began marching towards it. She approached the ladder and analyzed it, poking it here and there, sizing up her opponent. After a few more moments, glancing about the rest of her surroundings, she set to work.

About thirty minutes had passed since the man left his daughter to her own devices. As his finger idly flipped through the thin pages of a rather personally significant book, he thought that he ought to at least glance upon the mischief that the girl had most likely caused. Setting his book aside, the man stood up, his long, navy curls falling gracefully as he began making his way to the top floor. _Knowing her, she's definitely closest to the sun._

When he finally completed the last set of stairs, puffing slightly at the work, he spotted the elderly man who was sitting by a windowsill, "Good afternoon, sir," the father still breathed heavily, "Have you seen my daughter?"

The man had a rough, cheerful laugh, "She's a smart one, you know?" his crooked finger pointed to one of the shelves. The father thanked him and made his way in the direction that his senior indicated.

He had to muster all his strength to avoid screaming in shock.

The girl was at the top of the great ladder, her small, steady hands reaching out to claim her prize.

Her father stifled at the sight, struggling to spit out a single syllable, "Z-Zahra!" the man's voice was coarse but hushed, "What do you think you're doing? Get down from there!"

* * *

 _Hinahoho_

Growing up in the icy north, Hinahoho was accustomed to harsh, frigid weather. Swimming in icy water and sleeping in houses built on snow, he became immune to the effects of dangerously low temperatures, as per the well adapted gene pool that made up the Imuchakk clan. So, it was purely evolutionary instinct for him to recognize and react to sweltering heat—even through the state of unconsciousness.

Hinahoho shot up in horror, feeling an alarming amount of sweat run down his cheeks and bare chest. His head pounded, his ears rang, and his hands and legs felt hot sand below him. Shaking the animalistic fear out of his head, he stood up.

"Oh no," he mumbled. He was looking out towards the ocean, and the waters were in an unfamiliar state: calm, clear, and comforting. The skies were blue, and the sea seemed hauntingly endless. His thoughts reeled as neurons fired at an ungodly speed, until only one simple thing settled firmly in his mind:

Kikiriku.

He screamed, his blood pumping madly as he began running along the beach, "Rurumu! Kikiriku! Where are you?" The sand was hot and heavy, slowing him down, and he cursed it to no end, "Come on, where are you guys? Where is everyone?" he looked back and forth, plodding along with urgency. His vision then focused on the rocks that dotted the shore up ahead on his left, and then shifted to a brooding, thick jungle on his right. Shielding his eyes from the blinding sun with his calloused hand, he soon saw it—the ship.

"I'm coming!" he growled, his legs taking him faster and faster across the beach, ignoring the stabs of broken shells that pierced him under his weight. _I've gotta get to them._

Before long, he reached the rocks. He quivered, realizing that the massive ship they left Reim on just a few days prior had now been shredded to pieces. There was only one section that seemed to be in tact—the cabin. He felt a significant weight lift from his shoulders.

"Hina... hoho..." a weak voice strangled his attention. Hinahoho looked around frantically and noticed a white wick of hair blowing in the wind from the ground.

"Ja'Far!" Hinahoho ran to the child's side. He lifted him, discovering that his lower body was literally buried in the beach. Gathering him in his lap, sand dripping from the boy's clothes, he asked, "Are you alright?"

The boy coughed horribly, but his sand-dusted eyelashes slowly parted, "Yeah," he shifted towards the ship, "we have to find the others."

"Right," Hinahoho replied, standing up with Ja'Far in his arms.

"Guys! Over here!" the two gasped at the sight before them.

Hinahoho nearly dropped Ja'Far in joy, and his eyes welled with tears, "Rurumu!"

The woman smiled in the distance, holding her child close to her chest. Hinahoho ran over, grasping his wife and baby in a tight embrace.

"Baba!" Kikiriku gurgled, pointing back towards the ship. Ja'Far managed to hop down, escaping Hinahoho's death-hug. He turned to the direction that the baby indicated, and saw a figure lying against a tall, jagged rock.

* * *

 _Ja'Far_

He stiffened and immediately began running towards his leader.

"Sin! Sin!" Ja'far shrieked. His feet splashed through the shallow, clear water, and after tripping on rocks and seashells, he finally reached his friend. Ja'Far dropped to his knees and began shaking Sinbad's shoulders wildly. "Hey, you gotta wake up! Come on, Sin! Sinbad!"

Suddenly, Sinbad choked, and began hacking out seawater. Ja'Far sat back, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Between coughs, the youth scanned his foreign surroundings, "Where are—," another cough, "—we?"

"No idea, but it looks like an island." Sinbad looked down at himself, suddenly bitter at the sight of the mess that the storm wracked on his clothes. One of his boots was missing, his pants were torn roughly at the hems, and the sheath of his sword had somehow vanished. He pushed himself to sit up but winced at an unexpected sensation.

He hesitantly peered at his side, and Ja'Far was immediately alarmed. "You're hurt!"

Sinbad touched the growing red splotch on his clothes and inhaled sharply at the stinging pain from his left abdomen, "It's okay, I'm fine."

"You're not! That looks bad!"

A small wave slapped against them, and managed to reach Sinbad's wound, making him scream in response to the salinity. "Okay, you're right, it's bad," he admitted. "Where's everyone else?"

"They're on the beach, but we haven't seen Mystras yet."

Sinbad furrowed his brows. "We've gotta find him," he muttered, struggling to get to his feet. Ja'Far stumbled up as well, bringing his small arms to help his companion stand properly, who cursed under his breath at the searing pain. Ja'Far strained his neck upwards to see the wreckage.

The ship was completely destroyed. There was barely anything recognizable left, simply scraps of wood and cloth strayed about. The goods that they were carrying were most certainly gone or unsalvageable, and that only took a stab at the company's expenses. It was going to be difficult to get back to Balbadd, and even more difficult to return to any of the other countries they were exporting goods from. In fact, it was going to be hell just surviving for the next few days, or however long it was that they were to be separated from any form of civilization.

Ja'Far glanced at the myriad of distress, grief, confusion, and anger that was evident on Sinbad's face.

He frowned, feeling the same emotions begin to bubble in his own throat.

* * *

 _Mystras_

"Ow! That hurt, you stupid bird!" Mystras squealed, swinging a branch at a small pink bird, "You're infuriatingly cute!" he cried, still thrashing about in his craze.

This bird had been pecking incessantly at him from the instant Mystras opened his eyes. Rather, if it wasn't for that bird, Mystras may not have woken up at all. He had found himself collapsed on a rock, surrounded by the thick of dark green trees that were covered in moss and layered with ferns and plants of sorts that he'd never seen before. There were strange flowers of peculiar colors, where some of them even grew from vines that hung vertically from even stranger tree branches; they seemed to connect and attach to nearby trees instead of remaining independent, as if a huge spider was building a massive web or nest betwixt the trunks.

After realizing that he was shipwrecked and officially worthy of the title 'castaway', he panicked, calmed himself down, and then panicked again. He looped in this manner for about ten minutes, all the while the bird kept pecking at his rusted hair.

"If you're going to be like that, just tell me where my friends are!" he yelled, finally smacking the bird out of his view. Panting, he collapsed, and sank against a tree trunk, ignoring the way the bark scraped at his back, "What do I do?" he asked himself for probably the hundredth time. He reached his hand up to wipe the sweat from his forehead and winced as it dripped into fresh wounds. Bringing his hand down, his eyes widened at the sight of a surprisingly great deal of blood. _That's definitely not just the bird's fault._ A sense of despair and hopelessness settled over him like a cloud. Scrunching his nose, he hoisted himself to his feet, looking up at the dark foliage above him.

 _That bird, this jungle, it's all so different. Where the hell am I?_

"Uh, hello?"

Mystras jumped at the sound of a voice."Who's there?" he yelled, reaching for his spear but was dismayed when he realized it was nowhere near him.

A man appeared from the bushes, carrying a basket overflowing with thin, orange-spotted leaves. "I'm a healer," he mumbled, an eyebrow arched as he made his way closer to Mystras, "Who are you? You don't look like you're from around here," he said, a grin teasing his lips as he glanced Mystras up and down.

"I got shipwrecked," he sighed, suddenly self-conscious of his tattered clothes, bruised skin, and dishevelled hair.

"You definitely look the part, but where's the rest of your crew?" the man analyzed the area. "Or is it just you?"

"I got separated from them. I have no idea how I got here, and I have no idea where they are, and I have no idea how to find them," he slumped. _How did things end up going so badly?_

"I'm sorry for what happened to you, but, I can do my best help out, if you'd like," the man took a step closer to Mystras, and he instinctively shuffled back. "Hey, don't worry. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Mystras' lip twitched, but he slowly let down his guard. The man approached him again cautiously and reached out his hand. "I'm Faraz," he smiled, and Mystras reached his palm out as well, meeting in a firm handshake.

"I'm Mystras of Sasan," he said, "and, where am I?"

Faraz chuckled. "You're in the deep jungles of Kalaraq, Mystras of Sasan. Welcome."

* * *

 **Et voila - dw Sin n everyone will meet my other OCs real soon I pRAMise.**

 **please REVIEW fave follow all that jazz pls! Reviews are much much appreciated - thank you guys so much! :):))**

 **also art acc:**

 **deviantart(.com)/ada-01**

 **~ AVA**


	4. Cherry on Top

**Welcome back! Enjoy the FINALLy longer chapter guys! Hopefully the rest of the chapters will be like this :)**

* * *

 **EXTRAORDINARY**

4

Cherry on Top

 _Sinbad_

 _About two weeks ago…_

"Pipirika! Where are those financial reports?"

"Has anybody seen the trade route agreement contracts from Chewar?"

"We're out of ink!"

"Where's Ja'Far? I need him to sign these documents!"

"Ow! You stepped on my toe, Drakon!"

Things were going crazy in Balbadd.

It had been over eight months since Sinbad had come to the almost spontaneous decision of purchasing the island offered by Barbarossa. From the moment the words fell from Sinbad's lips, everyone had been working around the clock to put everything in order. Several weeks have passed since the many employees had a chance to rest. That resting period ended quickly when countless documents, meetings, deadlines, letters, appointments and reports flooded the halls of the Sindria Trading Company, and the workload began snowballing once again, day after day.

People hadn't slept for over seventy-eight hours, and it showed. Masrur and Sharrkan, perhaps the few well-rested ones, would gossip, sitting rather comfortably under shaking tables piled with paperwork, whispering to each other about how Vittel's paling skin made it seem like he hadn't seen the sun in weeks. Who can blame him? After all, founding a new country was no easy feat.

Issues had risen and fallen. Most of the problems were easy to deal with, thanks to Rurumu's logic and Pipirika's efficiency.

However, an unanticipated complication appeared, and they had no idea to how overcome it.

Ja'Far slapped a hand to his forehead. "A down payment?"

"We didn't agree to a down payment!" Hinahoho exclaimed, mere syllables away from blowing a fuse.

"Actually, you did," Barbarossa pulled out a long, rather thick paper. It had a great deal of absurdly small writing, and at the very bottom, he pointed to Vittel's signature. "Right there."

"Give me that!" Ja'Far snatched it from Barbarossa's hands. His sleep-deprived eyes scanned the paper rapidly, and finally settled on a line of fine print in the middle of the document. His free hand balled into a fist as he slammed the document on Sinbad's desk, screaming for Vittel to 'get his ass in Sin's office' with a tone that nobody in the room had ever witnessed before. Sinbad sat forward, elbows resting on the table, fingers interlocking just below his line of vision. He was evidently both exhausted and vexed.

Barbarossa lazily swung one leg over the other, seated opposite to the soon-to-be King of Sindria. "Parthevia expects the fee to be paid in full. Today."

"I understand that," said Sinbad.

"With all due respect, is there any way that we could push the deadline a little further down the road?" asked Rurumu. Due to the past weeks' work, even _her_ patience had been wearing thin, a most incredible phenomenon, making it difficult for Sinbad to decide between fearing or beholding it.

Barbarossa's expression seemed to be as fixed and firm as his deadline.

Sinbad, however, knew him better than that.

"Could we have the room, please?" one could tell that he wasn't requesting this; he commanded it. Everybody cleared the room. The sounds of Ja'Far blasting Vittel for his recklessness began to fade, but there was an audible response along the lines of 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Wait— _gah!_ My eyes, _my eyes! It burns!_ ' followed by 'It's just sunlight, Vitel,' from Pipirika. With the door closing gently behind them, Rurumu's wary eye disappearing behind the wood, Sinbad relaxed his neck, bowing his head.

"Sinbad."

"We can't," his voice was low, tired, but even, and his gaze was fixed to the floor. "We have less than a quarter of what you're asking for in our savings." There were countless times when the company had narrowly escaped a complete collapse. Things had been smooth sailing. however, the sudden onslaught of a down payment may steer them towards destruction in a matter of seconds. There was so much to do with so little time, and Sinbad nor any of the company's employees were ready to tackle Barbarossa's conditions as a wretched little cherry on top of it all.

Barbarossa sat quietly, arms folded across his broad chest as he rubbed his index finger and thumb absently, thinking. "You are proving to be unreliable."

That set something off in Sinbad.

The two had been rather inseparable throughout the slow year. Continuous meetings and conferences to attend, as well as time spent outside of business affairs. Instead of fishing or horse riding, as they did when they first met, Sinbad and Barbarossa often discussed politics, world issues, and sometimes their own adventures over lavish dinners on gold-plated saucers and sweet Parthevian wine in gem-encrusted cups. Sinbad wasn't particularly thrilled that he had supper at expensive restaurants and was always rather late to return to his _real_ friends, but this strange but undeniably crucial relationship was something that had ruthlessly taken time, money, and effort to foster.

He wasn't about to let all of it slip through his fingers in this very moment.

"It's been difficult," he brought his head up slowly and purposefully. The bags under his eyes explained his words quite succinctly. Something flickered in his distant, dull irises. It was a message.

No, it was a plea.

Barbarossa's lip twitched. "I see."

The silence that followed was death-like. The only thing that Sinbad could hear was his heart thrumming in his chest, blood coursing like galloping, feverish horses through his veins.

It seemed like an eternity had passed when the Parthevian President finally cleared the fog that settled in the air. "You continue to surprise me, Sinbad," he stood abruptly, his robes sighing as he did. Sinbad sat there, dumbfounded. He watched as the older man approached the door, but he didn't dare say or do anything at that moment.

It wasn't out of respect.

No. It was out of fear.

 _Why? Why am I so afraid of him?_

…

 _Oh, yeah._ That's _why._

"Five," Barbarossa's voice thundered as he clicked the door open, his shoes rapping the floor softly while stepping into the hall.

"Pardon?"

"You have five months. Get it done." Without even turning back to look at his comrade, Barbarossa closed the door behind him.

Sinbad sighed, every muscle in his body relaxing greatly as he slumped into his chair. His fingers swam through his hair, breathing as though he had just completed a strenuous run. For the first time in a long, long time, he felt the smallest moment of peace. It disappeared as quickly as it appeared, but it was comforting nonetheless.

Another narrow escape.

...

"So, any ideas?" Pipirika asked. Everyone was gathered in the main meeting room, and Sinbad was leading the discussion on how exactly they were going to gather the funds needed to fulfill the down payment. Ja'Far was still shooting ice-dagger glares at Vittel, and although they were still young and unfortunately rather useless, Masrur and Sharrkan listened intently as the adults began forging a game plan.

"Do _you_ have any ideas?" Hinahoho demanded. Pipirika went silent at that.

"The branches in Uhwep, Reim, and Sasan are doing particularly well. Artemyra is having issues with their birds, so we haven't been able to profit greatly for the past few months on that side," Rurumu explained. "We have to find a way to bring in more revenue from the other branches."

"That's what we've been trying to do for the past eight months, and nothing has worked," said Mystras. A weight fell in the room, and it felt as though there was little to no hope left in their hearts.

"What if we set up new branches?" Pipirika asked.

"We don't have much freedom there." Ja'Far explained. "We've set up branches in many countries already. None of the other countries we corresponded with have gotten back to us in terms of permission to set up a branch."

"I wouldn't say that," Ja'Far turned to Sinbad, whose lips quirked into a grin, "We've got one," he said as he dropped a folder on the table.

Drakon grabbed it, flipping through the many papers rather clumsily with his claws. "Cathargo?"

"Cathargo."

"But that means we'd need to get in contact with Reim. Again," Vittel noted.

"Yes, but it's our only option at the moment," Sinbad replied, glancing at the suspicious and hesitant glances that were exchanged around the table. "We have to act now."

"If it's our only option," everyone turned to Masrur's soft voice, "then I think it's worth pursuing." Sharrkan gaped at his friend's courage, inwardly coaxing himself to speak up as well.

Rurumu crossed her arms, deep in contemplation, "I agree with Sinbad and Masrur. If this is our only chance to meet Barbarossa's requirements, then we need to take it." Concern and apprehension lifted, and a sense of confidence began to glow on the faces of the employees. Sinbad didn't let that go unnoticed.

"Alright!" he cheered, "Who wants to go to Cathargo with me?"

"Sin! You should stay here!" Ja'Far exclaimed.

"No, I think Sin's right," Hinahoho defended, "As President of the company, I think it might be a good idea for him to go, since Cathargo is currently under the orders of Reim."

"Well then I'm going too," the pale boy said firmly. "I think we need an additional two or three people. Is there anyone who is willing to–"

"Count me in!"

"Me too!"

Mystras and Hinahoho enthusiastically raised their hands, and Sinbad couldn't help but smile appreciatively.

"I'll come along, as well," said Rurumu.

Hinahoho furrowed his brows, "But, the twins!"

"Pipirika can look after them," Pipirika held her thumbs up in agreement. "Besides, I think it would be best if I came along to settle trade agreements, and the twins are still too young to travel," her hands entwined over her bare stomach. "This one still has a while to go, so I should be alright to travel."

"U-Um," Sharrkan stammered, "I think it m-might be a good idea to take one of our own ships to go to Cathargo. That means you don't need to worry about spending even more money for the trip itself."

"That's right. Fees for ships are becoming more expensive as well," Mystras noted.

"Good thinking, Sharrkan!" Rurumu ruffled his hair affectionately. He blushed, the pride that swelled in his chest sent sparkles shivering through his eyes. He was overcome with giddiness as his grin ran from ear to ear. Masrur nudged him in the side, nodding approvingly.

"It's settled, then." Sinbad announced, "We depart for Cathargo in two weeks," he analyzed the room, weary from merely looking at the stacks and stacks of paperwork that filled every nook and cranny of the building. He sat on his hip and sighed.

"Until then, it's back to work, guys."

* * *

 _Zahra_

"This will be good for you! Faraz will be there, so all you have to do is help him out," Pari smiled hopefully as she began cutting fish for dinner.

Zahra frowned as she helped her mother, slicing away the leaves of one of Kalaraq's staple vegetables, olfai, "But I don't wanna," she whined playfully.

"Sweetie, don't you want to become a healer?"

A whirl of emotions rushed through Zahra's chest. _Hm_.

It wasn't that she didn't _want_ to become a healer. It was just that it was so much work. The notion of spending hours upon hours every day in a little hut studying, practicing, then studying once again was beginning to feel more like an inescapable, death-like nightmare rather than her ultimate dream.

But fate was a cruel thing, after all.

"You constantly helped Faraz at the Healing Center over the years, why put it to waste?" her mother added.

That was true. She always escaped to the Healing Center to spend time with him whenever she could.

Admittedly, she couldn't really call them 'study sessions'. But nobody had to know the truth about those.

"... I just don't _wanna_ ," she drawled even louder.

"Oh? And why not?"

"I have plans already," she half-lied. _I wouldn't call them plans, but…_

"Are you _planning_ on reading those silly books again today?" her mother asked. Her daughter was no fool; she recognized the tone she used.

"No," she fully lied this time.

"Alright," her mother sounded relieved, as Zahra expected. "Then you can spend the night reading those books that Elias left you."

Zahra immediately protested, "What? But those are the old healing scripts!"

"Elias has learned many things from those scripts. In fact, it is those scripts that—"

"—made him the Grand Healer. I know, mom," she glowered. A silence fell between them, one that they had shared many times before. It was an opportunity. It was an opening that one of them granted the other, a chance for a compromise that Zahra was now obliged to conjure up and offer as a peace treaty. After weighing her options in her head, she finally determined a reasonable bargain. She put the vegetable down, "I will go help Faraz today, but in return, will you let me attend the festival?"

Pari thought for a moment as she cut the silver-gold fish into thick slices. Zahra watched her intently, her mother's blade thumping against the wooden board in a timely manner. After about an agonizingly lengthy minute of silent contemplation, Pari let out a sigh. "You can go."

"Really?" the girl beamed. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she ran over to her mother's side, grabbing her into an embrace.

"Ah! Watch the knife!" Pari exclaimed, and Zahra realized she had forgotten to put her cutting knife down. She dropped it onto the cutting board with a half-hearted laugh and continued squeezing her mother. "You're so reckless. Be careful today," Zahra looked up at her. "That man is a foreigner, and you never know what they're capable of. Also, although Faraz is taking care of him, don't get too involved and mess up, okay? Do you know how many things you've spilled, broken, or lost in this house?"

She was acutely aware of her tendency to wreak havoc. She nodded, abashed, and a streak of hair dipped between her brows. "You're right. I'll be careful."

"And," her mother gave her a hard look. "No going to the Cap."

"I know," Zahra words were as meek as a mouse.

Pari smiled thoughtfully. With the brief pout of her lips, she blew the hair from her daughter's face. Zahra stumbled back, making a face that sparked laughter in her mother.

"Finish cleaning up that olfai, then go to the healing cen—"

"Okay! Love you! Bye!"

She glanced over and realized that Zahra had already cut the leaves off all the _olfai_ roots they had. The girl's footsteps echoed as she trampled across the floor, slipping her satchel over her shoulder, and pounced through the front door. Pari shook her head hopelessly and returned to cutting the fish.

* * *

 _Sinbad_

Sinbad tripped and fell flat on his face—again.

"Ugh," he grumbled, "how many times is that going to happen?" he asked himself, arching his back to catch a glimpse of the rock-hard plant that took him for a fool.

"Baba-kha-boop!" Kikiriku's laughter was like soap bubbles. He held all his fingers out into the misty jungle air and stared at them with puffed lips, until he finally let three fingers slowly curl back into his tiny palms.

"That's right, Kikiriku! That's fall number seven!" Rurumu chimed, twiddling her finger above the baby's big, brilliant eyes. She was thrilled to see her child's intelligence flourish at such a tender age.

"You're really clumsy today, Sin. You okay?" Ja'Far inquired.

Hinahoho laughed, "Maybe you hit your head a little too hard on that big ol' mast."

"I forgot how to laugh," Sinbad's tone was beyond sardonic.

The crew had been aimlessly plowing through the jungle for several hours, and the clear blue skies had turned dark and heavy as nighttime fell. After catching no sight of Mystras in about a mile's radius of the ship on the shore, they concluded that the only reasonable choice was to search for him through the jungle. The trees and plants were unruly and unyielding, as if they were deliberately trying to keep people from passing through. Consequently, they hadn't made much progress, either. They had been calling out Mystras' name until their throats ran dry, searching for him in and under trees, in bushes, and even by a small river they'd discovered.

It was all futile. He was nowhere to be found.

"Does anybody have a remote idea as to where in the hell we are?" Sinbad's tone was laced with many unsettling thoughts.

"Well," Rurumu began as she carried Kikiriku in her protective arms. "We have no idea where we are, but, we were quite far off from Balbadd when the storm hit. We might be in Southern waters, somewhat close to Parthevia or Cathargo. Or even the Dark Continent, perhaps," she cooed softly as Kikiriku began to cry, holding her baby closer to her chest. Hinahoho frowned, slowing down to walk by and comfort the child.

"We have to find food at some point," he said, registering that Kikiriku hadn't eaten in far too long. He carried him, allowing his wife to stretch her arms.

Sinbad looked up at the sky, the thick foliage encompassing everything in sight. "You're right," he tilted his head slightly, straining his eyes to glare at something.

"It sure is strange," Ja'Far noted, as he bent down to look at a bright flower springing from the earth. Its petals were covered in a thin layer of hairs, and it reminded Sinbad of the soft fuzz that coated the flesh of a local fruit in Reim. Curious, Ja'Far swabbed at it. Unexpectedly, the flower spurted a puff of white powder at his face, and his freckled nose crinkled in response. "I don't think I like it, though."

Sinbad glanced around, thinking to himself.

"I wish we could get a better view of this place," said Ja'Far.

"Your Djinn equip would be really useful, but..." Hinahoho began.

"You haven't recovered completely," Rurumu continued, "and your magoi will deplete significantly."

"Yeah, but I can improvise," he winked at his comrades. One of the trees seemed to sneer at him as he approached its trunk. It was a monster of a plant, brooding over the boy, challenging him. The girth of the trunk itself was enormous, where it would take at least four people to wrap their arms around it. The trees he grew up with in Parthevia seemed like mere weeds compared to this one. However, boldness wasn't unfamiliar to him.

And so he began climbing, using the thick, sturdy branches as stepping points. He grinned down at Ja'Far, who wiped his powdered face with the back of his hand, frustrated, "Your wound!"

"I got this!" Sinbad continued to swing his legs, albeit painfully, higher and higher. His tan fingers gripped the off-white branches of winding bark and heaved himself higher. "This is kinda tiring though," he mumbled to himself. Fatigue was a sensation that was oddly foreign to him. Most of the time, his energy remained a constant peak, especially when he was exploring new and exotic countries or places. However, it was at times like these that there were just too many things on his mind at once. _That_ was what truly exhausted him.

After pawing his way up the tree, he finally reached the branch he spotted from the ground below.

"What's he doing up there?" Hinahoho asked, puzzlement written all over his features.

Right on cue, Sinbad peered down at them, grasping something in his hand triumphantly, "Who's hungry?" he shouted down below. "Catch, Ja'Far!"

The boy yelped, caught off guard. He raced to snatch Sinbad's prize as it landed with a _flap_ in his small hands. He inspected it carefully and discovered that it was a fruit of some sort. Soft and smooth, with five or six ridges that ran across its violet-red skin.

"What if it's poisonous?" Ja'Far frowned. "We've never seen this type of fruit before."

"We've never seen _any_ of this before," Rurumu mumbled.

"Just where are we, exactly?" Hinahoho scratched his head.

Almost as if in response, Sinbad felt a branch lurch from below him. He gasped and gripped onto the tree trunk tightly. _This feels awfully familiar_ , he mused, grumbling to himself.

Ja'Far screamed from below, "Sinbad!"

The branch dipped even further, and the base of it began to curl like a spring. Thin, green vines sprouted from it like baby snakes. They started coiling around his ankles, then firmly gripped his calves, "Okay, what the fuck is happening?" he exclaimed. Suddenly, he felt the branch begin to surge upwards, growing rapidly and carrying him with it. He screamed, gripping bark until the skin on his fingers peeled as he flew through the foliage. Sinbad heard the cries of his friends below, but they soon disappeared as he was whipped by leaves and other branches. He sputtered, "S-Stop! W-What are you doing?"

The branch did not listen to the boy's shouts but took him higher and higher. Soon enough, he was at the very top of the treeline. Shutting his eyes and bracing himself, he burst right through like a breaching whale.

Out of the blues, the tree's appendage came to a violent halt, and curled towards the tip as it touched open air. Sinbad, who was now rather unappreciative of tall pieces of wood, hesitantly opened his eyes.

"Woah."

The cool, night breeze rustled his long hair and blazer. The dark blue velvet of the sky above was thick and studded with glittering stars that shined brighter than the lightning of Baal. Sinbad had never _seen_ so many stars clumped together in one sky. It was if someone had taken a huge brush of white paint and swiped it over the surface, splattering millions and millions of paint drops everywhere. The city was in a deep valley, and it was full of life. Warm orange glowed from every city building and house and fire, and it lit up the thick jungles and colossal rock formations that bordered it. Beyond the city were smaller villages and darker areas, places that seemed uninhabited. However, the city was quite the opposite, absolutely bursting with life and culture.

Sinbad couldn't remember the last time he'd seen something so beautiful.

"Ah! You stupid tree! That hurt!" he turned at the sound of Ja'Far's voice. The boy was desperately holding onto a smaller branch behind him. Sinbad concluded that he had chased after him on his own strangely responsive tree. Budding from his white hair were contrastingly dark leaves, and Sinbad couldn't help but smile in pity. "Oh, woah."

"Right?" Sinbad breathed.

"Yeah, but we gotta get there first," Ja'Far noted. His friend sighed and rested his head on the branch that carried him, his heart pounding with anticipation. "Sin, what if Mystras–"

"Don't say it," Sinbad interrupted him. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to believe it, either. That possibility was impossible. He couldn't bear it if it was. "He's okay. I know he is."

 _I know it._

* * *

 _OMNISCIENT (no POV)_

Down in that valley city of Kalaraq was a brothel. Brothels were something common and infamous in the world at the time. Like taverns and many other meeting places, they grant their predominantly male customers the space to speak freely about politics, world affairs, and sometimes their wives. Brothels were places that heard the most secret of stories and the dirtiest deals. Their walls and couches and floors are tainted with blood, curses, and lies, among other things. However, it is also where men swear their lives and dreams to each other, all the while beautiful women straddle their hips and overflow their cups with expensive wine and feed them sweet rainberries from the western orchards. Some would say that a brothel is a sacred place, after all.

Typically whatever is said in a brothel stays in a brothel. However, it is poor judgement to believe that this reasoning is also applicable to the events that take place in a brothel, as well.

"I heard that Balbadd is flourishing these days!" said a great brute of a man. His green beard bounced with his bark of a laugh, and he spiritedly shook the shoulder of his friend beside him. "King Rashid is doing one hell of a job to take care of your family!"

"I suppose," the other man said sheepishly as a woman massaged his shoulders. "If only Kalaraq was in the same position."

"What are you saying, my friend? Kalaraq is as lively as ever! And don't even get me started on the women," he swooned, yanking the arm of a young girl to sit by his side. She giggled like a bird, twirling her blonde hair as she ran her dainty, but tired hands over his large chest.

The other man was young. He was skinny and frail, and his mouth was thin and weary. "But all of us merchants have been forced to raise the prices of everything we sell," he shook off the woman at his shoulders. She let him be. "Barely anybody has been purchasing anything here for months now! How the hell am I supposed to support my family if I'm not making any fucking money in this place?"

"Why don't you just go back to Balbadd? Set up shop somewhere else?" the larger man scratched his chest, chugging his wine like water.

"If only it were that easy. I haven't even made enough money to buy a _Kalahm_ pass."

The larger man guffawed loudly. "That witchery is going to be the fall of this country! Why don't you just sail there yourself instead?"

"What, to die just a few miles from the shore?" he scoffed. "Are you insane?"

"Suit yourself. Stay here and starve, then," the young girl tugged at his green beard playfully, a wry grin creeping onto the man's face. "As for me, I'm going to enjoy this shit while it lasts."

The man stood up, carrying the wary girl in his arms, to go to a private room. The other man, the merchant, remained at his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose, realizing that this was the first and last time that he would ever visit such a disgusting place. Cursing under his breath, he stood up violently, carelessly tossing a bag of gold on his seat as he began walking to the front door. As he reached for the handle, his cross face softened when the door opened itself. He stepped back to make space for its wide swing.

His jaw dropped at the sight before him.

The women screamed in alarm, and other men lazily complained to shut the door quickly. Leaning on the doorframe was a young man of perhaps twenty-five, a field worker from the appearance of his clothes, or whatever was left of them. He was sweating buckets, dripping in blood, and half of his right leg was missing, a bone protruding irregularly. It wasn't cut, rather, it was savagely ripped off.

"Help me… please…" he begged, collapsing at the feet of the merchant.

* * *

 **twistedlittledoll:** thank you so much! looking forward to keeping this story going :)

 **LADY SILVERFOX aka charita rai:** oOOooohh ;)

 **Guest:** awh thank you so much! (i changed it just now but thanks anyways!)

 **Guest:** yeeeee

 **guest:** i gotchu fam every week

 **Guest:** Mystras is a gem, can't let that man go easily, you know?

 **Guest1:** thank you SO much that means a lot. Hopefully I'll live up to that! :)

 **SO as you can (hopefully) see, this is going to be during the 1 year timeskip during the SnB manga (right after Sin agrees to purchase the island near Parthevia). SO I'm going to assume that Sin turns 18 during this year, so he's 18. Kk? Kk.**

 **THANKS GUYS I'm having a lot of fun writing this and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do ! And lol i forgot to edit this document properly and so all the story breaks were missing but now they're here so yeah aha. Please review, fave, follow, all that because I so so appreciate it :)**

 **~ AVA**


	5. My Word

**Welcome back ! Please read the announcement at the end of this chapter, guys! It's about my art and this story, so please read if you can :)**

* * *

 **EXTRAORDINARY**

5

My Word

 _Zahra_

Long distance. Long distance running was her strength, not short distance, high intensity, sprint-like-your-life-depends-on-it running. Despite this, Zahra's feet were just slightly shy of levitating off the ground as she sped from pristine, untouched fields to pebbled roads and paths. She was gripping a book close to her chest, and her satchel bounced against her hip with every broad stride of her lightly tanned legs. Sweat dripped down her pinked cheeks as she dashed from the yellow wildflower patches back to her village.

 _Gotta get there in time. Gotta get there in time._

She hadn't realized how late it had gotten. Her 'plans' were only supposed to take up a bit of time. Her 'plans' weren't supposed to run this late into the evening. Unfortunately, Zahra only noticed how far the sun had gone down when she could no longer see the details of the trees in the landscape – only their dark, silky silhouettes. Losing track of time was something that occurred so frequently that it had become one of her well-developed skills, as her brother Rohan had once noted. When she realized that she had done it yet again, she had stuffed her books into her satchel, not even bothering to close them, the pages crinkling unsettlingly in her bag. She had stood up, her ankle twisting unnaturally in the process, and began cursing loudly in both pain for her leg and frustration for her poor punctuality.

The field beneath her crunched as she ran, and she apologized silently for every flower that collapsed under the balls of her feet.

Although one part of her was running to keep the promise she made to her mother, another part of her was running with compounding anticipation. She didn't know much about trade in her country, but she _did_ know that aside from merchants Kalaraq was quite unfamiliar with foreigners from around the world. A part of her was terrified of the man in Faraz's hut and the unknown he embodied, but another part of her was aching to meet someone new.

That part made her run faster.

Zahra finally saw the flags. There were three of them, waving tall, proud, and strong. One flag was that of Kalaraq, the other symbolized her village of Etor, and the final, slightly shorter flag represented the Healing Sector of the village. She grinned with relief, realizing that in a fast-approaching hut lay a whole adventure to be discovered.

* * *

 _Sinbad_

Sinbad's eyes were glowing.

Light illuminated every possible nook and cranny of the city and brought life to everything and everyone who was in it. Although night had fallen, people were still out and about in the Cap. Merchants were selling and trading food, pots, clothes, trinkets, whilst children ran around playfully, earnestly tugging their mothers' sleeves to buy them sweets or toys. Men talked casually outside taverns, guzzling wine with lopsided grins on verandas that lined the streets. Wisps of women were dancing, talking excitedly with their friends as they floated across the pebbled roads. The bells that embellished their dresses chimed with each swish of their bodies.

"This is incredible," Hinahoho said, his blue hair tinted green under the orange luster of the city's ambience. "I can't believe this exists. How is it that a country like this isn't even on our maps?"

"It is rather strange," Rurumu commented. "I wonder why we haven't seen it before."

After a couple of hours of wandering, desperately searching for Mystras in almost every tavern, inn, and shop, Kikiriku's crying instantly reminded the shipwrecked crew that they ought to rest at some point. It didn't take too long for them to spot an inn towards the center of the town. When they entered through its large, steel-lined door, Sinbad quickly took heed of the faces in the main lobby. He could recognize the physical characteristics of people from different parts of the world almost immediately. A woman sat in a chair writing in a leather notebook kept flat on her lap, and her pale hair and dark skin indicated descent from Heliohapt. An older man was standing at the reception desk, his gnarled walking stick supporting his thick, heavy robes and long turban, and appeared as though he was from Balbadd. It was Sinbad's cognizance that helped him realize the nature of their stays in the inn: they were both merchants who spent their chilly nights at inns of the city and worked during the smoulderingly hot days.

They approached the receptionist, who seemed weary from the late hour. The bags under her copper-colored eyes were ashy, marring her youth. "Hello, there, and welcome to Kalaraq," she said, studying the appearances of the foreigners. Hinahoho and Sinbad exchanged a glance. _Kalaraq?_ "How may I help you?"

Ja'Far smiled kindly as he stood on his toes to peer over the granite desk. "Do you have any rooms available for tonight?" he asked.

"Yes, we have plenty of rooms open. How many would you like to book?"

"How much does one room cost?"

"For one person, it would be about fifty gold."

Ja'Far flinched in response and turned to Rurumu, gripping a small bag of gold coins. Rurumu was well-known in the company for being superbly resourceful and consistently prepared for hell and high water, and with good reason. For example, she was the only one had the mind to always carry money on her person, and it had survived the wreck along with her. Unfortunately, her shrewdness in addition to the funds just weren't enough to support all five of them that night. "We only have sixty," she noted.

"You should take the room with Kikiriku, we'll find something to do until morning," Ja'Far declared, setting the pouch of gold on the desk for the receptionist to swipe. Rurumu grinned sweetly, ruffling the boy's hair.

"You are an amazing son, Ja'Far. Thank you." Ja'Far blushed with pride as Kikiriku playfully reached out to touch Ja'Far's freckled cheeks from his mother's arms.

"Rest easy, honey," Hinahoho planted a gentle kiss on his wife's forehead, his hand brushing over her lightly swelled belly.

…

With only ten gold left to their hands, Ja'Far, Sinbad, and Hinahoho's options for survival were fairly limited. Even so, Sinbad found himself strolling spellbound through the gleaming streets and alleys that littered the city. Ever since he had purchased his soon-to-be country, he had been under a tremendous amount of stress and anxiety and inner conflict, especially so after seeing what he saw and doing what he did. It was almost liberating to finally be away from all of it for once.

"What do we do now?" Hinahoho asked, eyeing merchants and commoners as they quibbled and bargained with each other. Their indistinct conversations sent the wide roads buzzing to life, shouts from stalls and the wails and shrieks of children filling the air.

"We can't do much. We're so broke right now," Ja'Far muttered miserably.

"I need a drink," said Sinbad, who felt that there was no other comfort available than that of alcohol, "and I'm starving. We should just drop by a local tavern for a bit."

Ja'Far's tired eyes wore a flash of alarm. "How is a drink the first thing on your mind right now? We have to find Mystras!"

"We haven't really gotten anywhere, you know? It took us the entire day just to get here, and we still couldn't find him in this city," said Sinbad. "We can take a break," his hands found his grumbling stomach, smiling sheepishly with embarrassment.

"Pretty hungry, not gonna lie," Hinahoho admitted, feeling pangs of hunger surge through his own belly.

Initially, Ja'Far just couldn't understand how his friends could possibly _think_ of foodat a time like this. Yet, upon second thought and referencing back to their time in Artemyra, he realized that although he was relatively accustomed to hunger, his comrades most certainly were not.

"Fine," he sighed. "We're not getting anywhere anyways."

They marched their way to a large tavern, where men played curious board games and drank dark wine from ornate copper mugs at an outdoor table. They laughed heartily, and one accidentally spilled their drink on the other. There was a tense silence, but then they burst into a roaring laughter that was even louder than before. One of the men called out to them. "Hello there!" the three turned in surprise, "A sincere welcome and congratulations, foreigners! You've made it to Kalaraq!"

"Congratulations?" Sinbad asked.

The men cracked up yet again, their bellies shaking in response, "Almost nobody makes it to Kalaraq! They all die in the fucking storms and rocks that border this island! Didn't you know?" asked another man as he lazily wiped wine from his purple lips with his forearm.

"Wow, we got lucky," Hinahoho surmised, gulping.

"We didn't even intend on coming here, sir," Sinbad answered, both pride and bewilderment colliding in his chest. "We were shipwrecked."

"Shipwrecked, you say? Surprised that you even survived those rocks," the first man's snicker came out as a hiccup. Sinbad could've sworn he glimpsed a few subtle baffled expressions at the table. "You guys should go get a drink, you all look like you could use one," his friends laughed as the man returned to speaking with them.

With a dismissive shrug, Hinahoho was the first to make his way through the curtain of bead strands hanging from the doorframe. Sinbad followed merrily, perhaps even with a spring in his step, and Ja'Far muttered words under his breath, cursing all the gods that his leader was a bloody drunkard.

Sinbad was instantly slapped with the scent of tobacco and wine. For the first time since their shipwreck, he was overcome with a sense of familiarity that sparked a feeling of both guilt and bliss; it seemed to wash all of his worries away, as if he were dunked into a tub of rejuvenating water. He couldn't help but smile a little.

The tavern was quite dark, save for the few blazing braziers that lined the black walls of its interior. It was a stark contrast to the bright streets of the city. The dim atmosphere was studded with round tables of blackened wood that hosted mostly men, and what great brutes of men they were. With thick beards and dark eyes, they welcomed the trio with brooding gazes as they made their way further inside. Ja'Far felt their heavy stares like daggers nudging at his back. Nervous, he quickly slipped behind Hinahoho, who was also receiving uneasy looks from what seemed to be the town locals.

A waitress approached them from around the bar by the entrance, a small notepad in her hand as she strode with silent footsteps. Her slim eyebrow cocked slightly at the sight of the foreigners, a wry grin pulling at her pink lips.

"Table for three?" she asked with a voice like chiffon, her weight shifting to her right hip effortlessly.

"Yeah," Sinbad's response was curt.

"Follow me," she cooed. The waitress' silken fuchsia hair swayed gently before them as she spun around, guiding them coolly to a table at the far corner of the room – the last available one. Sinbad's eyes lingered a tad too long on her hips before she turned back to face them, snapping his attention away. She stepped aside for the three to scoot into a round bench that encircled the decrepit table, and as Ja'Far laid his hands on its surface, he suddenly felt even more distinctly out of place. It dawned on him that in addition to his youth, his pale hair and complexion stood out sharply in the black, bleak, and mature nature of his environment.

Hinahoho winced, holding his stomach in despair. "I'm so hungry. I'm so hungry."

The waitress giggled. "Well you came to the right place. My name's Omaira, and I'll be attending to your needs tonight," she gave Sinbad the quickest of glances at that. "What can I get you boys? Mugs all 'round?"

"What do you have?" Sinbad asked, resting his cheek in the palm of his hand, somewhat lulled by the softness in her voice and the calm of her gray half-lidded eyes.

"Well, most of our wine is imported from countries like Balbadd and Parthevia. However, we do have our own specialty alcohol here in Kalaraq."

"What is it?" Hinahoho asked, his interested suddenly piqued.

Omaira's smirk was nothing short of cheeky. "It's called _arrack_ here. Be careful though, it doesn't usually play nice." Sinbad had only just realized that her hand was oddly close to his own, flat on the rough wood of the table. "Drink carefully with that one, it goes down pretty smooth," the worlds dripped from her tongue like honey. Sinbad nearly pinched himself in order to maintain the distance between them.

"How much food can we get for ten gold?" Ja'Far asked, realizing that he felt slightly famished at this point, but it was most likely his instinct to distract himself in the disconcerting situation at hand.

Omaira thought for a moment. "Ten, you say?"

It didn't take long for wooden plates piled with fresh food to be brought out to their table along with a glistening bottle of _arrack_. Sinbad and Hinahoho went wild over honey-glazed ribs and fragrant curries, while Ja'Far watched them stuff themselves as he dully spooned rice into his mouth in awe. The two had downed several copper mugs of wine, and the CEO surpassed the warrior by three shots of the coconut spirit.

"Hinahoho, you've lost your edge," Sinbad slurred, setting down his shot glass on the table, a coconut burn sizzling in his throat and warming his stomach. He wondered if he could breath fire as a result and came shamefully close to testing this stellar theory. Ja'Far scrunched his freckled nose from the ringing that echoed upon the glass' impact, making a mental note to avoid every drop of alcohol in the future.

"Fatherhood has softened me," Hinahoho confessed as he let his head fall to his hands, despaired that he couldn't bear another sip.

"I told you to go easy on the _arrack_ ," Omaira's voice slithered as she found her way to the table.

Sinbad chuckled, his droopy eyes squinting up at her. "My lady, I don't go easy on anything."

"Oh, is that so?" she murmured, her fingers tapping on the table. They both knew this mischievous game of words all too well. "Mind if I clean this up?" she gestured to the emptied plates that were scattered in view.

"Hey, now. No rush. Sit with us," Sinbad's speech was nothing but a drawl, but he slid down on the bench to allow her to take a seat beside him. She held her gaze with his as she lowered herself onto the creaking wood. Ja'Far furrowed his eyebrows, harrumphing as he downed a glass of water with mounting frustration, foreseeing yet another spectacle of Sinbad's drunken glory. He only just realized that the brazier nearby was filled with hot coal. The thought of throwing a few molten rocks at his comrade swept through his mind only for an instant, but it had been there nonetheless.

"I can't spend too much time at one table, better make it quick," she purred.

"I might have to hold you back longer, if need be," Sinbad's faulty smile seemed to grasp her attention. "Just wanted to ask a few questions."

"Fire away."

"Where in the hell are we?"

Omaira blinked in amusement and confusion. "What do you mean? Like, this tavern?"

"No," Sinbad's response was dragged. "What is this country?" he asked, jabbing his finger into the table emphatically.

The waitress couldn't help but snort. "No more _arrack_ for you, sir," she laughed, but her chuckles tangled in her throat upon the dead-panned expression on Sinbad's face. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope."

"You're not merchants?" she glanced around the table, and her glossy lips parted gently with understanding. "You're not merchants."

"I mean, technically we _are_ merchants, but we're not here for business," Hinahoho corrected.

"Why does it matter?" Ja'Far asked, lifting an eyebrow.

She looked at them as if they were complete fools. _Are they stupid or just fucking with me?_ she thought to herself. "Because there are no foreigners here except for those seeking business in this country," she explained slowly, realizing that they truly had no idea what she was talking about. She sighed, exasperated, setting her hands on the table calmly. "Alright, look: every single outsider arrives in Kalaraq for one purpose and one purpose only: trade. It could be noblemen or kings or merchants or beggars, but they all come here for that same reason. There haven't been tourists or travelers in Kalaraq since…" Omaira found herself thinking hard, clawing into her memories, "…no. It's always been like that. How the hell are you guys even here? Don't tell me you snuck in."

"Shipwrecked is more like it," Hinahoho retorted.

"Huh?" Omaira exclaimed. "No way! That's impossible!"

"Unfortunately, my lady, it's true," Sinbad sat forward at the table, looking somewhat more collected than before. "How about this," he deliberately brushed his arm against hers, "we'll explain how we ended up _here_ ," gesturing to the tavern but referring to the unknown island, "and you can help us out in return."

Omaira was aghast. She hurriedly peered around at the tables and men behind her, ensuring that she could spare a few minutes before quickly turning back to the foreigners who now seemed worth her while.

Briefly exchanging looks between Ja'Far and Hinahoho, Sinbad smirked devilishly. He tapped his shot glass with Hinahoho's untouched one on the table, giving a toast to his comrades, then held itto his lips as he tilted his head back for another shot. Amusement sparkled in Hinahoho's eyes. Ja'Far shook his head, disappointed yet begrudgingly approving of Sinbad's never-failing cunning.

"You got yourself a deal," Omaira whispered excitedly, chugging Hinahoho's _arrack_. "Tell me everything."

* * *

 _Mystras_

Mystras winced in pain. The antiseptic liquid that was dropped on his forehead stung as though it were acid, and Faraz could only frown apologetically. It was late into the night, the crickets began to chirp, bats swooped low in the air, and Faraz had brought Mystras back to his healing hut to treat his wounds. It was determined that the boy had suffered a rough blow to the head, most likely by colliding with a tree or rock after being quite literally thrown out of the ship itself. Despite this, he suffered miraculously minor injuries, but the possibility of impromptu dizziness and nausea would last several weeks.

"You'll be fine," said Faraz, as he removed the antiseptic-soaked sponge from Mystras' skin. "These cuts will heal in no time."

"That's great," he watched as the healer began taking out several jars from cupboards around the room. "What if I faint or something?"

"Yeah, that's possible," Faraz admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. He thought quietly for a moment, kindness touching every inch of his features. "We'll keep an eye on you then, until you're totally good to go. You're free to stay with me, if you'd like," his smile was gentle and almost soothing. Mystras caught himself staring for a moment.

"Really?" he swung his legs from his seat atop the examining table. "That's so kind, thank you!"

"No worries. It's my job," he gestured to the hut that enclosed them from the outside world. His steady hands began emptying the contents of each jar into a mortar. Amongst the herbs were unusual green flowers and pungent spices that Mystras just couldn't identify. "So, tell me, Mystras. What were you doing so close to Kalaraq? Almost nobody comes by these parts except for merchants."

Despair floated in the room like dust. "I think we got lost. We were originally on our way to Cathargo, but we ended up sailing in a crazy different direction. By the time we realized it, the storm hit, and then…" he trailed off, sorrow singeing the ends of his words. "It's all my fault. I should've directed Sinbad properly."

"I don't think you did anything wrong," there was a distinguishable note in Faraz's voice. "I believe I know what happened."

Mystras gasped slightly, his glassy eyes alight with hope. "You do?"

"Yes," Faraz frowned. "I've heard tales of a strange part of the ocean that is infamous for messing with sailors. I'm not sure how it works, but I thought it was only a legend."

Mystras glowered. "Whatever it was, I guess we fell for it," he looked up in alarm when Faraz placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Your friends are surely alright," he persuaded. In that second, Mystras felt as though he could place the entirety of his faith in this man. His laughing green eyes held promise and hope and inspiration, and he found himself believing every word that floated off his tongue. _It's almost like…_

The castaway snapped out of his trance and could do nothing but nod in solemn agreement. Still, over the land, the moon rose steadily alongside his fear and trepidation.

Suddenly, the hut door swung open, slamming the wall with a _boom_. Mystras nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound.

"You're late," Faraz stated dryly. His initially warm impression unexpectedly froze over, cold and firm like ice. It was almost frightening how abruptly his demeanor changed. "What took you so long?"

Mystras glanced at the utterly frazzled girl standing under the doorframe. She was panting hard. Her dark hair was windblown and disheveled with a strand hanging between her eyes and over the bridge of her nose. From this, the carmine flush on her cheeks, and the way the sash around her waist was slipping, it was clear that she had been running. Mystras peered at the tiny bells around her ankles that chimed as she stepped further into the room but realized that her bare toes were dark and dusted; she had roamed through a soil of some sort. Despite her jumbled appearance, her brown eyes were sturdy and determined. "I'm here now, right?" she said, throwing her satchel on the ground.

Faraz rolled his eyes. "Can you grab that jar over there?" he asked, gesturing to the shelves on his right. Zahra, her breathing still rather labored, trotted over to Mystras.

"You're not going to introduce me to our new friend?" she asked, hands on her hips. Mystras smiled timidly, hand idly rubbing the back of his head.

"I'm Mystras, and I'm from the Kingdom of Sasan. It's nice to meet you."

"I'm Zahra," she announced, stretching her palm out. "It's nice to meet you too. I've read about Sasan before. It's the insanely religious one, right?" Mystras shook her hand, nodding with an awkward chuckle that tightened in his throat upon contact with her soft skin. "So, how'd you end up in Kalaraq?"

"My crew and I were shipwrecked," his expression darkened, "and I have no idea where they are, or if they're even alive."

"Oh, shit," she said, her voice lowered. "I'm so sorry." Zahra turned to Faraz, a knowing look on her face as she mouthed a word to him. He shrugged and shook his head in response, his cheeks quirked with his forlorn expression. Zahra slumped, annoyed, as he then motioned for the jar he mentioned earlier.

"Do you live here, too?" Mystras asked. Zahra stood on her toes as she grabbed the jar filled with blue tree cones. He noted that even her attire was strange. He had never seen anyone wear a _sleeveless_ choli before, even in Balbadd.

 _Odd_ , Mystras thought.

She turned on her heel to bring the glass jar back to the table, setting it down carefully on the old, chipping wood. "Yeah, this is the village of Etor, and Faraz and I have lived here all our lives," she said, removing the glass lid of the jar and groping for a few cones. "It's pretty secluded, even though it's the closest village to the Cap."

"The Cap?"

"Oh," Faraz chuckled, his laugh as delicate as butterfly wings. "The _Cap_ ital. It's the main city of Kalaraq. You can find absolutely anything there: food, entertainment, markets, music – everything. It's probably why most of the inhabitants of this island country live there."

"We tend to call it The Cap for short, or the Orange Pearl," Zahra explained.

"The kids in Etor coined the name Orange Pearl because it's always glowing with orange fire at night. It lights up the whole sky. You couldn't miss it even if you tried," Faraz added. Zahra glared at him, mumbling something along the lines of 'Are you just going to explain everything and make me look like an idiot?' He smiled in approval as Zahra begrudgingly began probing out the seeds between the steel-blue cracks of the cone. She swore under her breath as a splinter pricked her finger.

"Wow, that sounds amazing," said Mystras, in awe of their mere words. "I can't believe that even exists in such a small island."

"Yeah, it is rather strange," Faraz quipped.

"Have either of you ever been there?" Mystras asked. "To the Capital, I mean," Zahra stiffened visibly as she began grinding the seeds in the mortar.

"I go there often to buy or trade supplies for the Healing Huts here, but Zahra..." Faraz's words dissolved in the surprisingly heavy air.

"I haven't been there in about a decade," she muttered. Mystras saw that she had begun grinding the seeds harder, and the pestle in her hand seemed as if it was about to crack and crumble from the force of her now white knuckles. He didn't miss the look on Faraz's face that dissuaded him from prying any further. He took the hint.

"Oh," Mystras mumbled, dropping the subject like a hot stone.

For a moment, the only audible sounds were the rough grit of stone on stone as Zahra worked the seeds into a powder, as well as the crickets squeaking outside in the night air.

Faraz suddenly snapped his fingers. "Hold on."

"What is it?" Mystras asked.

Zahra slid the powder-filled mortar down to Faraz's hands, and she was surprised that it smelled of warm rosemary and morning dew. "I think I know where your friends are."

"You do?" Mystras and Zahra asked in unison.

Faraz began fumbling around for some essential oils in the cupboard behind him. "Well, I found you in a part of the Eastern Shore Jungle. In fact, I found you right between Etor and the Capital. I brought you north to Etor, but there's a chance that your friends went south to the Capital instead." He set the oils on the table, then proceeded to lift each of them to eye-level as he tapped the brown-tinted glass with his nail.

"Really?" Mystras exclaimed, the flutter of hope filling his chest and brightening his eyes. "I've got to go find them," he said as he began sliding off of the table.

"Slow down, kid," Faraz called out to him, stopping the boy in his tracks. "You should stay here, otherwise those wounds on your head will open up. I'll go get them," he affirmed. He turned to Zahra and gave her a few instructions on creating an ointment with the oils on the table. A strained puzzlement was mildly evident on her face. Regardless, Faraz began packing a bag on the other side of the room. "The Cap is similar to any main city in the world. You could compare it to a miniature Balbadd. Given that, where do you think they might be?" he inquired.

 _Knowing Sinbad..._ "Probably a tavern," Mystras' voice was flat with satire.

"Okay," Faraz nodded, throwing his bag over his shoulders as he began pacing towards the door. However, his journey was cut remarkably short as someone suddenly grabbed his wrist.

"Wait," he turned to face Zahra warily. "I'll go." Her free hand and jaw were clenched, and she looked straight into the man's eyes. His mouth twitched slightly, apprehension swirling through his mind.

"No way," he objected.

"But–"

"–But nothing! You've never been allowed to go since–" Faraz stopped himself from spitting out something he'd later profoundly regret. "I can't let you go," his voice cracked. After years and years of being practically inseparable, Zahra understood that this only meant one thing: he was hesitating.

"I can do it." _I hope_ , she thought.

"But what if your mother finds out?"

"She won't." _She might. She'd kill us both._

"She'll kill us both."

Zahra's grip on his hand tightened, and Faraz began wondering how on earth she had gained such bone-crunching strength in her dainty fingers. "Faraz, I'm older now. I got this."

Faraz frowned, sighing as he rubbed his fingers over his worried eyes in distress. Zahra could see the conflict wracking at him inside, and she already knew that he'd soon give away like a raindrop verging on the tip of a leaf; she already knew that she'd won. "This is such a bad idea," he said, but Zahra didn't let go of his hand, and it was beginning to really hurt. He glared at her and spoke with a steady voice. "Fine. Be careful."

Mystras watched, eyes wide as she nodded and strode briskly, triumphantly around the table to grab her satchel from the ground. He couldn't help but feel ridden with guilt. "You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do, actually" she uttered blankly. "It's about time that I get to see the Cap after all these years."

After some time, Mystras spoke up. "Thank you, Zahra," he said.

"I'll find your friends," she asserted with a fiery smirk. "You have my word."

With that, she was off.

Mystras glanced at Faraz, who was staring wordlessly at the powdered seeds, realizing it was the second time that day where she left him in that hut.

* * *

 **HI FRIENDS so i made this announcement in Chapter 1 (Pepper, Musk, and Baby's Breath). I just updated it, check it out if you'd like, you probably should.**

 **! PLEASE READ:**

 **I want to make a note about something important that I want to incorporate into my story. ART! I'm really into art and honestly I'm a pretty visual person, which is why I like to incorporate imagery into my art, and why I'm going to be drawing 'visual aids' to this story for you guys to see! It could be like a mini manga strip, or a scene from a chapter, or just OC sketches, you know?**

 **So my first drawing is my cover - that's my OC, Zahra. Please don't steal because I worked hard to draw it so thanks for not stealing :) I have an account on IMGUR specifically for my fanfics so you can find everything I post:**

 **ava001 . imgur (.com) /all**

^remove the brackets and spaces lol sry fanfiction is being weird so i had to put them in.

 **If you don't know WHEN I'm going to post a new art piece(s), I will announce it in an actual story update (in other words, my story updates and art updates happen at the same time, and if you follow this story, you'll know both.)**

 **Speaking of which - there are new pieces on my IMGUR up there! Check em' out :)**

 _LADY SILVERFOX aka charita rai:_ You'll find out soooooooon! :)

 _Guest1:_ aaaaa thank you so much, i'm trying my best to make it such that my art is almost applicable to the SnB manga, you know? so it's easier for readers to incorporate my characters right in! and i'm so glad you enjoyed the chapter! and yes, mystery is always great. and yeah the timeskip was a lifesaver, I needed to find some point in the show where I could put this in, and the timeskip was like a Godsend !

 _IloveFoxes:_ yeah it _is_ strange that there aren't many more Sinbad/OC stories (man is so hot like what), and yes Kalaraq is amazing and I will reveal more and more with time! Also, in terms of Sinbad's age, here's my thinking: at the post-time skip/wake-up scene with Yunan, Sin is 18 years old. That wake-up scene couldn't possibly have been on the same day as his birthday (otherwise it would've been mentioned in the story, or celebrated, or something, and on top of that, the coincidence would be just _too_ stretched). So, we can assume that Sin turned 18 prior to that wake-up scene, right? We don't know when he did, so I'm taking advantage of that, and saying that he turned 18 several months prior to that wake-up scene, and THUS that is where my story lies - AFTER he turns 18 but before the wake-up scene. Does that make sense? Sorry, it's hard to explain. Like you said, it doesn't really matter, but I wanted to clear up my thinking. Thank you for supporting me nonetheless, I really appreciate it!

 **Alright that's all for now! Just wanted to let y'all know that I am working on this fanfic with all my heart and I wanted to make art a part of it as well, because I love writing and art both so much. So yeah! HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS CHAPTER! See you next weekkkk :)**

 **~ AVA**


	6. The Orange Pearl

**AND WELCOME BACK! ALSO, I've changed where I'm going to post my art - I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner, but I'm using DeviantArt now (that I haven't used in literally years aha). I posted some new shit, check it here (remove the brackets in the link):**

 **deviantart(.com)/ada-01**

 **Also, it's about time Sin and Z meet... don't you agree? ;)**

* * *

 **EXTRAORDINARY**

6

The Orange Pearl

 _Sinbad_

"Incredible," Omaira breathed, her head resting gently in the crooks of her palms. "So, you somehow managed to survive the wreck, and now you're a vagabond crew representing a massive trading company that's desperately searching for answers in a strange land and a way to survive and return home?"

Ja'Far blinked at her extensive summary. "Yes?"

"Incredible," she repeated, as if his confirmation threw her deeper into a wonderous trance.

Sinbad, who was now seated suggestively close to the waitress, swirled his wine in its copper mug absently. "Now, you've gotta help us out."

"Right," she laughed, her fingers trailing their way across Sinbad's thigh below the table. "What is it that I can do for you, castaways?"

"Perhaps you could provide us with an explanation as to why this country exists? And why we haven't even seen it on any maps before?" Hinahoho inquired.

"Or why we were shipwrecked in the first place?" continued Ja'Far.

Omaira pursed her lips in thought. _We're not on maps?_ "Well, I can't help you with the first two. I'm not what you'd call educated on that sort of thing. You will have to go do your own research or talk to somebody from the Par'Qalb if you're really interested."

"The Par'Qalb?" Sinbad asked.

"Yeah, but good luck with that," she said, dismissive with a cavalier wave of her hand. "But, about what happened to you out at sea, that would probably be because of–"

A resounding _crash_ echoed across the room, cutting Omaira's sentence short.

* * *

 _Zahra_

 _A few hours prior…_

It is said that rules were made to be broken. Well, that is what Zahra had understood from her most cherished childhood books. She first stumbled upon the phrase in a tale where a small, daring fish decided to jump out of the water, and it sprouted lovely red wings and flew out of the depths of the sea and into those of the sky; never to be seen again. An old sea turtle had encouraged it to do so, and because Zahra had somehow developed and held the firm belief that old turtles were wise, loving things, she believed in those words. Ever since, she had adopted them as her own, notching them into her heart as though they were the epitome of her being and the slogan of her lifestyle. Her dreams of shattering the laws of the world, bursting from the surface of the water and into crisp, open air only grew as time went on. At a certain point, it was clear to those around her that her unyielding defiance to rules (any rules, really) was no longer consequent of mere childishness nor the arrogance of adolescence – it was more potent than that.

Unfortunately, her rebelliousness could only go so far.

There were countless times when she had been scolded by her parents, particularly by her mother. Memories of heated, furious arguments still remained fresh in her mind to this day, and they continued to burn behind her eyes each time she let herself go too far; each time she'd wake up in the healing hut; each time she'd see Faraz's kind but disappointed face; each time, a bittersweet tang would stain her tongue, as if she had eaten a crude, unripe _moonga_ fruit.

Nevertheless, she continued her antics.

Thus, as she now walked purposefully to the Capital, her bare feet deliberately pressed into the dirt, clenching as much soil between her toes as she possibly could. Bravery surged through her chest, and the wind on the path she walked seemed to brisk her forward.

Zahra didn't hesitate in her actions, nor did she fear their consequences.

However, at times, she _did_ fear the dark.

The path that connects Etor to the Capital was one that cut directly through the thick of a smaller subsection of Kalaraqi jungle. The jungle was flush tropical trees and plants that made either side of the dirt road as deep and black as the night sky. Aside from the crunch of her steps and the screeching of crickets, Zahra's journey was dark and silent. A tad too quiet, for her taste. The many books she had read through her lifetime hadn't failed to remind her that terrible things have a terrible tendency of arising amidst darkness and deathly tranquility. Perhaps she had a read a little too much.

"What is wrong with me?" she declared fruitlessly to the calm, unresponsive jungle. "The dark is nothing to me. I have walked through these jungles countless times before. Why the hell am I so afraid now?" It only took a few moments for her to realize that she spoke aloud as a _result_ of her fear, unconsciously filling the air with her hesitant voice. Chewing on the inside of her cheek in self-admonition, she quickened her pace and held her peace.

 _The stories are not true_ , she affirmed herself. _None of them. Not those from mother, not those from uncle Balbir, not any of those from that damn village. You've seen so for yourself – there is nothing to be afraid of here. There is nothing to be afraid of. There is nothing to be afraid –_

"Shit!" she screamed suddenly. Her head went light and her feet burrowed into the ground as she dizzily eyed the horrible monster that scampered across the path – a lizard.

Zahra groaned loudly, swinging a fist at her forehead in shame. The white, near translucent lizard gazed at her strangely, tilting its head rapidly as its tail slapped the ground. She concluded that it was mocking her and stomped past it, peevish. "Nothing to be fucking afraid of!"

After walking for what seemed like ages through dark copses and on annoyingly rough dirt, she found herself on stone-laid road. She bent down to touch the change of earth, her fingers grazing the wide, smooth rock that lay in simple linear patterns. Looking up, she saw the unmistakeable glow of the city, just beyond the next hill. _So close_. She could just feel the energy and heartbeat that resonated from it.

"It's just as Faraz said it was," she breathed. His stories of the Capital were her favorites. They had this curious way of captivating her entirely. Now, she was finally going to see it for herself.

She could barely contain her excitement.

She plodded over the hill, her legs somewhat sore from the lengthy walk. Yet, although her feet ached from walking, her heart ached for _more_.

Half-crazed with eagerness so robust it danced dangerously on the line between admirable and terrifying, Zahra's line of vision finally landed on the vast expanse of the Orange Pearl below. She inhaled the sight before her, the warm, heavenly glow grazing over the buildings and people and shops as though it were a heavy fog. It called out to her,

How the hell could she say 'no'?

With newfound strength, she ran down the other side of the hill, delight propelling her legs forward as she soon found herself at the main entrance to the Capital. Her heart thrummed loudly against her chest, and it beat in time with the music that pulsed through the streets.

A beatific smile overtook her features as she sprang through the open gates, unbearably happy to see light once again. She breathed deeply as she scanned her new surroundings, taking in all the new smells and sights. Buildings of old mud brick scattered the land, _ogee_ arches piercing through their ornately carved walls. Carpets and rugs with intricate designs were tied from one building to another. They cast faint shadows along cobblestone walkways that were still alight with the glow of orange lantern fires. Burning wood and floral perfumes spiced the air, while the shouts of merchant men and women filled it.

" _Pomegrak_! Fresh _pomegrak_ from the western orchards! The best in all of Kalaraq!" a young girl cried as she handed out the red fruits from an enormous wagon laden with them.

"Peaches! Peaches! Reim's golden peaches!" one man sang as he touted, cutting a few slices for buyers to try.

Her body couldn't even keep up with her thoughts; before she knew it, she was running up and down the stone roads, exploring hidden pathways and streets, orange glows flashing across her body as she did. She leaped from one stall to the other, buying random, strange foods that she'd never seen in Etor. She bit into a Reim peach, and it was so ripe that its sweetness burst in her mouth. She grabbed skewers of deep-fried giant shrimp, freshly caught from the waters by the Eastern Shore Jungle, tasting the uniqueness of the world around her. She played with children who chased her robes, laughing and tickling their giddy cheeks; they were enchanted by the way they floated behind her like inflated butterfly wings. She talked to merchants from all over the map: Taiqa, Balbadd, Chewar, Artemyra, Heliohapt, and even the eastern regions of Kou. They graced her with brief but wonderful stories of their native lands, and they thrilled her. Zahra spotted several elderly women, their wrinkled, leathery hands working through strings of unusual colors as they weaved rugs beneath the shelter of a decrepit roof. Another man sat cross-legged on a plain cloth, nearly buried behind huge bundles of fifteen, perhaps twenty different types of herbs, grains, powders, and spices. Zahra could identify some of them: cinnamon, cardamom, peppercorn, turmeric, rosemary, cloves and saffron.

Later, her hands found the base of one of the many worn, nonetheless beautiful minarets that loomed over the city landscape. She ran her fingers against the cool rocks on its surface, but they felt like ice against the heat of her hands. Craning her neck to gaze at the highest point of the tower, she realized that it was though everything she read and heard about suddenly came to life; they materialized before her very eyes. It all seemed to fall into place, like chess pieces or children's building blocks settling into some sort of meaningful position.

She was overflowing with awe.

After finally pacing herself to settle her beating heart, she decided to take her time as she explored the new world. She caught sight of a bird, tugging at the edge of a massive cloth with its tiny beak. Giggling like a little girl, her gaze followed the silly bird as it gave up, then swooped into an alley. The alley was narrow, so the distance between adjacent stalls was just enough for only a few people to walk shoulder-to-shoulder. Goods of all sorts continued down its length, as far as the eye could see.

She wandered in, and it was as though her body went numb, totally submissive to the thoughts that flooded her mind.

Jostling her way through a raft of people, her attention darting from stall to stall as loud shouts and hushed conversations muddled together in the tight space, ringing in her ears. Bronze pots and pans caught and reflected sharp streams of orange light. There were elaborately-finished lanterns and perfume bottles embellished with gold, copper, and mother of pearl and precious jewels of topaz, sapphires, and rubies. Exquisite robes woven from colors of bronze, taupe, crimson, olive green, and burnt sienna were folded in heaps and hung for all the world to see. One young boy was selling Kalaraq's most prized good: tea. An infinite array of tea. The varying leaves were pressed into cases and containers that were studded with obsidian and smoothened pebbles, their myriads of fragrances swirling with the smoke of orange fires.

Zahra suddenly felt woozy. There was so many things, so many _new_ things relentlessly bombarding her senses; she could barely take it.

As a matter of fact, she couldn't.

She suddenly felt the need to get out of the alley. The mix of voices and the constant contact against shoulders and backs and arms were conquering her thoughts rather than the beauty surrounding her. Hurried, she squirmed through the crowd and back into the main streets, panting in relief of the open air. However, she was caught off guard by the sensation of caressing fur by her ankles.

Zahra jumped in surprise, glancing down to see a small dog, a mere puppy, tugging at her ankles with its teeth. She blinked, as if to confirm what she was seeing. The thing had a black, sleek coat that shimmered whilst it played with the tiny gold bells attached to her cuffs. Puzzled, she took a step back, and the puppy followed. "Hey, cutie," she cooed, crouching to scratch it behind the ears. The puppy jerked its head, licking affectionately and curiously at her hand before returning its attention to the jingling bells. She sighed, overcome with amusement and some sort of pity. _Adorable._

Her chin lifted at the sound of whoops and hollers from the central square where a circle was forming. Intrigued, she made her way over, the puppy hot on her heels.

"Look, girl, I wonder what's happening," she said to her new friend. The dog simply barked up at her in response, and she continued walking with a smile. Peering above shoulders, Zahra could see the center of the ring of people. There in the middle was a woman dancing, her feet twirling and leaping and flying across the floor. Her dark chocolate hair fluttered like an expensive silk robe, and her body swayed like the water of creeks.

Zahra wasn't absolutely sure, but she swore that the stunning woman had bore her eyes directly into her own at one point. They shined, as if they were cut from aquamarine gemstones. Her heart skipped a beat, cheeks flushing.

"Ow!" Zahra squealed as the puppy accidentally nipped at the skin of her ankle a twinge too hard. The dog whined apologetically. For some unknown reason, it was at this moment that Zahra came to the grounding realization that she had forgotten the purpose of her presence in the Capital in the first place.

 _Shit_ , she thought, _I've gotta find Mystras' friends. What the hell am I doing?_

"What did Mystras say, again? A tavern was it?" Zahra asked herself aloud, scratching her head. She began scanning the area for a tavern and caught sight of the largest one she could see. Taking one last glance at the dancer, she began walking towards the building, and the puppy continued to follow her from a distance.

Monstrous, toughened men sat outside the tavern drinking wine and laughing away their worries. Memories of her mother's words bobbed in the river of her thoughts, resurfacing the advice to always avoid talking to suspicious strangers. She glanced down at the black animal by her feet, who was no longer interested in her bells. "They're just people. Nothing to be afraid of, right?" she shrugged down at the dog, who regarded her quizzically with beady, brown eyes. Taking a deep breath, she approached the men, leaning over the parapet. "Um, excuse me."

The men didn't answer at first. She realized they were quite drunk and blissfully unaware of their surroundings.

Her brow twitched, and she spoke louder. "Excuse me!"

They heard her this time. One of the men looked at her with a lopsided smile. "Hello, young miss. How may I help you?"

She cleared her throat and straightened her posture, trying to feel as tall as possible. "Have you seen a few foreigners come by?"

The man laughed, hand over his belly, and Zahra inwardly gagged at its size and the wine stains on his white beard. "Why, yes! They walked in a while ago. A strange bunch, they were. I didn't see them leave, so I suppose–"

"Thank you!" she said abruptly and hopped through the beaded chains, quickly commanding the puppy to stay outside.

Zahra often found that the scent of tobacco was rather nice. She enjoyed holding rare cigars to her nose since she was a child, even though her father would quickly snatch them from her. However, she certainly was not accustomed to the pungent smell inside the tavern. It reeked of the burning leaves fused with an air filled with alcohol. She couldn't help but cough slightly, although she tried desperately to maintain her composure. _What kind of shithole is this? What kind of crew am I looking for exactly, a bunch of drunks?_ She scanned the room, her once splendid mood suddenly curdling like old milk upon understanding the true nature of her mission. Zahra inhaled sharply, forcing her lungs into familiarity with the less-than-ideal environment. _Okay, I need to look for people who look weird. People who look weird…_

Her brown eyes locked on a huge man, sitting in a rather sulked state in the corner of the room. His long blue hair was waterfalls of ice, and he seemed as strong as a giant. _Well, he is a giant_ , she mused. She then saw a rather ghostly boy sitting beside him, his freckled cheeks puffed in anger as he appeared to be arguing with thin air. _A_ child _? What the hell is a_ child _doing here? Hold on… why are there only two men? There should be three…_

Casting her questions aside, she began walking towards them. It was surprisingly difficult to disregard the stares and laughs of the men around her. As she swerved through the maze of people and tables and drinks, Zahra wondered how people could spend their time in such an abysmal place. She gritted her teeth, and they nearly chipped in her mouth when something grabbed her by the arm.

She whipped around, staring coldly at the burly man who was analyzing her up and down, "Hey there, pretty little thing. What are you doing in here?" he snickered, the alcohol practically dripping from his lips.

"None of your damn business," she spat, "now let me go."

To her horror, his thumb began to stroke the bone of her wrist. "Now, now, why don't you spend some time with me, instead?" Enraged, Zahra clenched her jaw, letting the fire of her fury burn over.

" _Wow. Anger issues, much?"_

" _Chill, Z."_

" _Learn to control yourself, young lady!"_

 _Ah, fuck it._

She brought her leg swinging to his side, kicking him right out of his seat. The men at the table hollered and praised her as he landed on the floor with a loud _thud_. "Fuck!" he exclaimed. "What's with your legs?" he screamed, his hand now clenching his abdomen rather than her arm. She regarded him behind the wild, black strands of her hair.

"I told you to let me go," Zahra said, her words like poison. The man's expression hardened, and he unsteadily rose to his feet. She thought he must've been twice her height, but she knew that he was livid.

 _I guess some of the stories_ are _true_.

She suddenly regretted ever coming to the Capital.

"Can a guy drink in peace, here?" said a voice from the corner of the room. All heads turned to it.

"Sinbad! Don't get involved!" a girl, who appeared to be a waitress, panicked.

"Who is it?" someone asked.

"I can't see him," said another.

The blue-haired giant facepalmed in shame. "At least sit up, would ya, Sinbad?"

Zahra watched, horrified, as a young man stood up from behind the table, gripping the wood to hold himself together. His face was flush from wine and complimented the purple shock that flowed behind him.

"It's really fucked up to treat a girl like that, y'know?" he slurred, crawling out of his seat and slipping on occasion in the process. "Leave her alone."

Zahra balked, a mix of frustration, disgust and veneration burning inside her. "Stay out of this, foreigner."

"Hey, I'm just tryna' to help, m'lady," he stammered with a stupid smile. He leaned on the table, but his wrist collapsed, and he stumbled again. The pale boy suddenly stood up, scrambling to help support him.

"Jeez, Sin! Just sit down, you're way too drunk. You're wounded, too!"

"Bullshit, Ja'Far," Sinbad laughed as he walked over to the strapping elder man, nodding at Zahra's exasperated expression. "You should step back." Her mouth tightened. _Huh?!_

The man laughed. "What? You gonna try and hurt me, punk?"

She watched, jaw slacking, as he wordlessly delivered an uppercut into the man's stomach. Sinbad grinned as his fist pierced his opponent just below his ribs, gasps echoing around the room. "Masrur taught me this one." Zahra resisted the urge to scream in horror as the brute tumbled back, unconscious, and crumpled over a nearby table, aggravating those around him over their now spilt wine and squashed food.

Sinbad sat back on his heels, gripping his side. "What an asshole," he said before turning to Zahra, who was still frozen in place. "You good?"

She found that her lips were numb, and it took some effort to move them again. "I-I, um," she stuttered. _What is_ with _these people?_

"A bit shaken up, huh?" he tittered. "Do you wanna sit with us? Don't worry, we won't try anything stupid," he said as he gestured to his friends at the table. Zahra looked at him blankly, her irises darting between rapid blinks, first at his eyes, then his hair, then his clothes. _That makes three._

"You're one of them, right?"

"Huh?"

"You three," Zahra motioned to the others, "are you friends of Mystras of Sasan?"

Ja'Far leaped to his feet. "Yes! Is he okay? Where–"

"Hey! Who did this?" bellowed a low, angry voice. Zahra looked over at whom appeared to be the owner of the establishment, hovering over the mess of tables, wine, and food before her. The waitress from before scowled, muttering a curse under her breath. "Was it you, tough guy?" said the owner, leering at the Imuchakk man darkly.

He couldn't even open his mouth to defend himself; they were all kicked out of the tavern.

* * *

 _Lakita_

"Have you heard?" said one noblewoman that night, as she spoke with her handmaid by the fire of their home. The two were close, like sisters, despite the steep gap in their respective societal roles.

"Heard about what?" the maid responded, setting down her needlework in her lap.

"A farmer was killed," the noblewoman said, her voice hushed, hiding her words from unwanted ears.

"Again?"

"Yes, my husband found out while he was returning home. They say that his entire leg was chewed off."

"Unbelievable!" the maid exclaimed, slapping her palm to her chest in shock. "Solomon have mercy on him."

"Such a shame, he was but a child."

The village of Etor is a host to a vast number of homes and families. One could consider the entire village as one, grand family on its own, where knowledge is exchanged from one person to another as fluidly as the common cold. Additionally, a number of people who dwell within the walls of Etor find work in The Cap itself. Consequently, news from The Cap easily bleeds into women's gossip and children's exaggerated tales amongst the Etor villagers. Rumors spread like wildfire.

"What is the King going to do about this?" the maid inquired, her worn fingers trembling.

"I haven't the slightest idea."

"Goodness."

"He hasn't the slightest idea about anything at all."

Horror crossed the maid's expression, trembling like the flames of the fire. "My lady! Please watch your tongue, for words like that may be considered treason!"

"It's the truth, and you know it!" said the noblewoman, her voice now a harsh whisper. "That…" she pointed to the ornate _jali_ by the door; she pointed through its screen to the outside world, "… _thing_ has been wiping out our men day after day for years, and nothing has been done to stop it!"

"The King must have his reasons, my lady. The beast's home is no place for ordinary men to wander through. It's dangerous–"

"–Yes, it's dangerous, but so is letting the thing walk! One day, it will come and attack our villages. What will the King do then?"

The maid fell silent at a loss for words. She sighed, shaking her head as she resumed her needlework.

"Mama?"

The women both turned at the call. A child stood at the base of the nearby staircase, the light of another _jali_ streaming across her frizzed, periwinkle, hair, patterns dancing across the thick of it. The maid gasped, throwing her work on the ground, the metal needles clattering on the tile. "My dear!" she cried. "What are you doing out of bed?"

The child frowned, her brows twisting in confusion. "I couldn't sleep."

"It's alright," the noblewoman interfered. "I'll take her to bed. You go get some rest," she ordered, lifting the child up into her arms as the servant woman excused herself with a bow. "Are you alright, sweetie?"

"Yes, mama," the little girl replied meekly, her mop of hair bouncing as her mother carried her up the flight of stairs. "Mama?"

"What is it, Lakita?"

"The monster won't come here, right?"

The mother froze in her steps, her mouth tightening as she thought of what on _earth_ she was to tell her daughter of only nine years.

"No, sweetie. The monster likes its home in the jungle, so he won't leave," she said, hiking her higher above her hip to give the child a tight, reassuring squeeze. "You're safe here with mommy, okay?"

Lakita was unconvinced. After all, she had heard the entirety of her mother's conservation with the handmaid, hidden away in the shadows of the night. Nevertheless, she was a smart girl of nine years, and she complied with her mother's judgement. She feigned an understanding smile, something twisting in her little chest.

"Okay."

* * *

 _Zahra_

"Thank God. I thought we might never get out of there," Ja'Far said breathing a sigh of relief.

It was very late into the night at this point. Few people wandered the streets, and those that did were reprobates, who were either severely intoxicated or oblivious fools. The orange fires burned on, however, ever-present. They flickered in large, iron barrels of coal, lining the streets and lighting up the night sky as though the sun hadn't even set. Zahra looked up and down the street, and noticed that the black pup had disappeared. She didn't expect her new companion to remain outside waiting for her – at least not fully – but she couldn't deny the drop of dismay in her chest.

"I was just getting started though, Hinahoho," Sinbad wailed, flopping down to sit on the cobblestone ground by Hinahoho's feet.

"I think you're done, Sin," said Hinahoho, patting him on the shoulder like a fallen soldier.

Zahra hemmed, catching their attention. She stood with her hands on her hips, disapproval staining her features. "Have you already forgotten about your missing friend?"

"Ah! Mystras!" exclaimed Ja'Far.

"Is he okay?" Hinahoho asked.

Zahra managed a weak smile of forgiveness. "Yeah, he's fine. He's back in my village, and he's being taken care of," she said.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Take us to him!" Sinbad declared, but a hiccup escaping his lips eased his command.

"Are you drunk?"

"I regret that I am."

"Man," Zahra groaned. _Why did I bother coming?_ she reflected.

"Well, uh, wait – what's your name?" Sinbad peered up at her through half-lidded eyes.

"Why don't you tell me yours first, foreigner," she asserted, nose crinkling with pride.

He blinked confusedly. "Uh, this is Hinahoho, Ja'Far," Sinbad pointed to the other two, who eyed her curiously, "and I'm Sinbad," finally pointing at himself; a risible gesture.

Zahra's chin tipped to the stars. "Well, Hinahoho, Ja'Far, Sinbad, I have been given the task of bringing you back to my village of Etor where your friend is recovering from his wounds," she said authoritatively, although her words sounded oddly rehearsed. "Welcome to Kalaraq, and congrats on making it here alive."

"Great, you're our escort," said Sinbad, as he wobbled off of the ground and onto his feet. "I apologize for the state that I'm in," he said, reaching his hand out to her.

Zahra tilted her head slightly, observing, weighing his eyes with her own. Although he was lightyears past the boundaries of logical decision making and proper composure… _He seems… no, he_ is… _steady? Focused? Perhaps some sort of sober?_ she thought to herself, ferreting through her vocabulary for the right word. Reverence began to simmer into her mind. "It's alright," she said shaking his hand with a fascinated grin.

 _Strange._

With that, his astonishingly firm grip on her hand faltered, and his feet returned to its _arrack_ -induced jelly state.

"It might be a long walk," Hinahoho snorted as he helped his friend stand straight. "Thank you for helping us."

"All good, and no worries," she said, watching Sinbad struggle to regain his balance, before turning towards the main entrance of the Capital. "Let's get going, then." Zahra took one last glance at the Capital and all its glory. Her heart still thudded hard against her ribs; a prisoner beating adamantly against his cage, pining for more.

A rueful smile lingered on Zahra's mouth.

Perhaps another time.

* * *

 **ANDDDD there we go! Much mystery.**

 **AH this was very fun to write, please let me know how you guys liked my imagery up there with the city. TooooOOo much? Maybe. OH and I had to change something in the previous chapter (but it's correct in this one) - The Cap is also referred to as The Orange _PEARL,_ not The Orange City. Okay? Okay. Sorry about that (I'm a little scatterbrained).**

 **ART UPDATE \- check it out on my DEVIANTART instead:**

deviantart(.com)/ada-01

 **I wanted to say a HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who's reviewed, faved, and followed, you guys have no idea it makes me squeal every time it happens because I appreciate it so much I almost cry tears of pure joy. Speaking of which, lemme address some of your reviews (ily guys):**

 _ **Guest1:**_ AAAA thank you so so much, and aha I'm glad you enjoyed flirty drunk Sinbad, it was fun to write. And yes so much secrets sooooOOo much secrets hehe. And thank you so much for your support with my art, I'm really looking forward to incorporating a lot of it in! Feel free to check out my DeviantArt as I mentioned above :) It's solely for this fanfic, so you won't have to browse through looking for stuff so it's convenient for you guys! And yes, I hope to enlighten y'all on what I think of my OCs, and my drawings have already improved so much over the course of this fanfic, so expect to see changes and improvements in my drawings as they progress (so they might change a lil, yeah?)

 _ **IloveFoxes**_ : TRUTH. I am so excited to write about him. And no problem! AND I'm glad that you enjoyed the city, and I hope you enjoyed even more of the details in this chapter ahaha I really love the city I think it's beautiful so I wanted to express that as mucchhh as possible today. Thank you and I can't wait to write more!

 _ **Guest**_ : yayyy! and i gotchu fam

 _ **Anna**_ : HAHHAAH thank you so much! Your review made me laugh and cry with joy I'm so glad that you found it fucking epic and exciting, that's amazing and it's exactly what I was going for. And yeah, I love my OCs they are pretty important, and I want to build the world of Kalaraq well, so OCs will be fundamental to the story (but not toooo fundamental, you know? Sin needs to get in there lmao)

ALSO about the Labyrinth of Magic aspect, I want to actually address this to all my readers: I'm not sure how I'm going to incorporate my story into that just because I'm not the biggest fan of inserting my characters between lines and plots that have already occurred in the show (for example, making my characters suddenly existent within a scene, such as the Sindria Arc or the negotiations scene that Alibaba had with Abhmad in Balbadd). That's the very reason I'm taking advantage of a timeskip right now, because I want to fill in gaps rather than push my characters in, but that's just my style of writing and my preferences in fanfictions. For now, it's a 'maybe' in terms of whether or not my fanfic will bleed into the major canon events of the Labyrinth of Magic - **please let me know if you have any suggestions or feedback in terms of this**! I'd really love to know, because right now, I have SO many ideas about how to end just THIS story that I haven't really thought much further - because these past few chapters are _just the beginning._ Things will escalate, friends. _THINGS WILL ESCALATE. shit will go down_ , and that's all I'm gonna say :)

 **Also, I wanted to make an important note: I'm moving into uni this weekend, so I might be slightly delayed in posting the next chapter (or I might post it earlier this week. idk.). It's going to be a hella fucking hectic week, so please bear with me as I settle into a new lifestyle and still push this story along because I have DEDICATED myself to this :)**

 **THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH for tuning in again this week - please check out my art if you'd like, and REVIEWS are so, so appreciated ! I love y'all, see you next week!**

 **~ AVA**


	7. Little Battles

**HELLO ! Please enjoy the new chapter and PLEASE read the note at the bottom :) Thanks guys I love you all !**

* * *

 **EXTRAORDINARY**

7

Chapter 7 – Little Battles

 _Zahra_

 _About 11 years ago…_

It didn't take long for Zahra to become well acquainted with the old man. He intrigued her. Perhaps it was the fact that he sat in the same place on the same floor in the same library every day at the same time wearing the same clothes and the same expression. Perhaps it was the way his incredibly long braid seemed to resemble a rope made of fine strands of silver gossamer, begging her to come and admire the way it glistened under the manifold colors of light. Perhaps it was the way his kind eyes wandered languidly over the pages over a book so large that she swore he'd pass on before reaching the last chapter (he was a very old man). Perhaps she was just curious, as she always was.

Regardless, one day she had mustered up the courage in her little heart and tugged on the old man's braid as if his head were a belfry and she was its bell-ringer. Zahra didn't know how the old man would react to her unseemly greeting. In fact, she decided that it was a test, and his response would determine whether he was to be her friend.

He had closed the book and looked down at the wild girl who stood before him, her fingers running through the gray of his hair and her lips pursed with determination.

"What are you reading, mister?"

"An adventure story," he said with a wrinkled smile that only grew when Zahra's eyes widened with wonder. "Would you like to read it with me?"

Needless to say, he had passed the test with flying colors.

Thus, began a friendship.

The two met in the library every day to read book after book after book. They would scour the floors of the establishment to discover new universes and protagonists and lands and people that transcended their dull, worldly boundaries. They'd sit side by side and enthusiastically absorb the magic and wonder that floated off the pages and into their hearts. The old man suggested that they'd take turns reading epics, poems, and literary essays out loud, insisting that it was a good way for the seven-year-old girl to learn big, fanciful words and complex concepts. She would stumble often. Her tongue would twist over words like 'flamboyant' or 'tsunami' when they read about distant dystopias. She couldn't immediately understand the covert philosophies of 'greed', 'piety' or 'selflessness' that somehow crept into the attributes of her favorite characters. Yet, her new friend sat through it all, patiently correcting her mistakes and answering her questions with a smile that could warm an entire home. Often, their meetings would run late into the evening, and it was at those points that Zahra's father had to practically pry the book out of her hands and drag his wailing daughter home. It wasn't uncommon for her to fall asleep at the table, either, her forehead dropping heavily into the hinge of a book that had truly exhausted her both mentally and physically. The old man would carry her home, then, and although his bones were brittle and delicate, he found strength in her undying spirit.

Time passed indefinitely, and their friendship grew stronger with each turn of a page.

"Maatanga?" Zahra asked one day.

"Yes, dear?" Maatanga, the old man, said, skimming through the hundred or so pages left to read of their most recent odyssey.

"Why can't we go on our own adventures?" she frowned, swinging her tiny feet below the table.

"We go on adventures all the time, child!" the old man exclaimed. "After reading perhaps hundreds of books, we've journeyed everywhere in the universe and beyond!"

Zahra was not convinced. "No, Maatanga!" she cried. "Why can't we go on our own adventures out there?" she pointed vehemently to the world beyond the open window sill beside them. Miles and miles of jungle unfurled into the horizon, stretching all the way to the White Mountains of the far north.

Maatanga blinked curiously, before breaking out into a laugh that probably fractured a few ribs. "Sweet child! If you want to go, go!" he gestured to the window. "There is a whole world lying in wait for your small, greedy hands! Why don't you go and explore it?"

This wasn't the answer that Zahra was expecting. She had exhibited this exact same behavior before her family, Faraz, and the other villagers, and they would all say the same thing: 'Don't you dare go into those jungles! It's far too dangerous!' wherein she'd pout and storm away, cursing the jungle for being 'too dangerous'. Solomon, how she hated those words! And yet, this man, this kind, weird, old man had given her the perfectly opposite advice – to go. She doubted his sanity; however, she also began to doubt the words she'd heard many times over. "But, aren't the jungles–"

"–Too dangerous?" Maatanga's tone was mocking. "Why that is an even greater reason to explore it, is it not?"

The girl was terribly confused.

"Adventure is nothing without risk, dear child," he explained. "Consider the main character of the story we are reading right now."

"Elijah?"

"Yes. He is climbing the tallest, coldest, most dangerous mountain that the world has ever seen. Hundreds of travelers have died trying to reach the top. Do you remember the three things that killed the previous men?"

Zahra thought hard for a moment, recalling the past events of the epic. "Um, the great, winged lizards ate some of them, and then there were giant boulders of ice that rolled down the slope," she scratched her head, stuck, but Maatanga made no move to interfere; he knew that she'd dig it out, and she did. "Oh! And then some people got really cold and decided to jump off of the mountain!" the words weren't bitter as they left her tongue. Her mother had become quite concerned that her daughter had an inhumanly weak sensitivity to death, destruction, and danger.

"That's right," Maatanga said proudly. "Now, what do you think about Elijah's journey?"

It finally dawned on her. "It's dangerous!"

"Yep! And what do you think about Elijah himself?"

"He's super brave!" she cried, her energy returning.

"So, do you want to be brave and go on your own adventure?"

Zahra opened her mouth to declare the commencement of her own great journey, but her war cry caught short in her throat. She looked out to the jungles and the mountains, crimson birds flying low above the canopies and chirping to their hearts' content. They flew down, disappearing, and her stomach began to writhe. Suddenly, all her courage melted away as she thought about what was lurking beneath those trees. Suddenly, she could see the amalgamation of her greatest fears and the village whisperings and rumors crawling ominously betwixt rocks and under vines. She could see its teeth oozing with the blood of an innocent man, and she could see its cruel, pink eyes glowing from the dark depths of a cave.

She was afraid, now.

* * *

 _Sinbad_

"Mystras!" Sinbad exclaimed, tackling the ex-knight into an embrace. The others joined in, and the two Etor villagers shared a contented smile as Hinahoho wrapped his mammoth arms around his smaller friends. They decided to leave the four alone and slipped out of the door to give them some privacy.

Sinbad caught sight of the girl as she left from the corner of his eye. It had been a long walk back to Etor, and Sinbad's improved but still inebriated state had lengthened their journey quite significantly. Perhaps it was his drunkenness that allowed him to forget that he still didn't know the name of their escort.

"I missed you guys," Mystras smiled gratefully, doubtlessly enjoying the affection.

"We thought we lost you for good," Hinahoho said.

"Don't scare us like that, okay?" Ja'Far scolded.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," Mystras admitted sheepishly.

Sinbad smiled, poking at the bandages around his head. "That guy really cleaned you up good, huh?" His eyes darted around the room, landing casually on the jars and bottles that filled every shelf to its brim. "Is this an apothecary? It's different than the ones in Heliohapt."

"Sort of," Mystras responded. "I think Faraz called it a 'healing hut'," he said.

Ja'Far walked around the table, glancing at the contents of nearby containers and shuddering. "What the hell are these plants?"

"Not just plants…" Hinahoho said, pointing uneasily at a glass jar filled with insects whose sizes were comparable to his own palm. "They're huge!" he exclaimed, bringing his face closer to inspect them.

Mystras paled. "Don't, Hinahoho! They're–"

"–Ah!" Hinahoho shrieked as the insects spurred within their glass confines, crooked legs flailing wildly.

"… alive," Mystras finished.

A laugh broke from Sinbad's chest. "I'm gonna get out of here before I accidentally break something," he said as he ineptly stepped out of the hut, Hinahoho's childlike whimpers fading into the background. He caught sight of his escort and Mystras' savior speaking in hushed voices beneath the leaves of a nearby palm tree. From their baffled expressions, the cryptic words of the locals in the city, and the undeniable twist in his gut (or maybe that was the _arrack_ ), Sinbad understood one thing about this island: he wasn't supposed to be here.

"Sinbad!" the girl called out, waving him over.

Shaking his thoughts and the dizziness out of his head, he approached them. "Faraz, right?" he extended his hand to the man. "I wanted to thank you for taking care of our friend. You saved him."

"Ah, no big deal. It's my job," Faraz said with a shrug, "and you are…?"

"Oh, right," he realized the alcohol really _had_ taken a toll on him. "My name's Sinbad."

"So, you're the one Mystras was going on and on about," Faraz chuckled. "I've heard a lot about you and your adventures."

Abashed, Sinbad grinned, but he didn't miss the way the escort shifted in her stance. "Oh, yeah? That's embarrassing. I'm actually trying to–"

"–Um, you're bleeding," the girl pointed out suddenly.

Faraz and Sinbad both peered down at the growing splotch of red on the latter's shirt.

"Shit," he muttered.

…

Just the mention of the word 'stitch' had driven Sinbad into a frenzy of terror. With all his extravagant kicking, struggling, and screaming, one really wouldn't have thought for a moment that he was still half in his cups. In fact, it took all Hinahoho's strength to hold him down as Faraz tended to the wound resultant from the shipwreck, re-opened and bleeding from his spontaneous brawl and the walk that followed. Mystras had turned away, feeling rather sick from the sight of a thread and needle piercing the young man's skin. However, Ja'Far, albeit loyal, berated Sinbad to no end, cursing him for causing so much trouble in a matter of hours. Unfortunately, even Ja'Far's reprimanding did little to assuage his leader's hysteria. As a last resort, Faraz forced a strong elixir of valerian root, passion flower, and lemon balm down his throat. Sinbad passed out within minutes, and even the examining table upon which he rested seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

Faraz had concocted the elixir so brilliantly such that it would allow its user to awaken exactly an hour later. Thus, after an hour on the dot, Sinbad awoke with a start, shaking the weathered table below him in the process. The pain through his side still smarted, but he had to admit that he felt significantly better. Although, he did see double, on occasion, the _arrack_ still playing its vexing tricks.

"How are you holding up?" Ja'Far asked as he stepped into the hut.

Sinbad turned to him with a weary smile. "Good. Hurts like a bitch, though," he chuckled, gesturing to the bandages around his bared waist.

"Well, Faraz said you can stay the night here. Just because you're freshly stitched up, and, you know, drunk," Ja'Far said, disdain peppered on his cheeks.

"Where are you guys going to be?"

"Faraz said he made arrangements for us to stay in their village overnight."

"So, we're going to trust these people, then? Just like that?" he asked, leery.

It was a pleasant surprise to see that Sinbad could maintain some of his wits at a sufficient level. Still, Ja'Far frowned. "I don't think we have much of a choice, Sin. We're absolutely broke, our ship is destroyed, and we have no idea where we even are. We still need to get in contact with the main office, and we won't be able to do that if we can't make some sort of connection with the people here," he thought for a moment, "this might be a good opportunity."

 _He has a point_ , Sinbad mused. "You're right."

"You sure you're gonna be okay alone, tonight?"

"He won't be alone," Ja'Far whirled around to see their escort emerge through the door. "I'm babysitting," she grinned, tossing a leather satchel on the ground

"I think I'm older than you," said Sinbad.

"Oh. Well, drunk-sitting it is," she sneered. It took some effort for Sinbad to refrain from rebuking her.

"Ja'Far! Let's get going!" Hinahoho called out from outside the hut.

"Coming!" the boy called back. Ja'Far turned to the two in the room. "I'll see you guys tomorrow, then. Don't do anything stupid, Sin."

"Yeah, yeah, go get some rest, Ja'Far," Sinbad replied. Ja'Far slipped out of the hut, his smile lingering in the air as he disappeared behind the door.

Sinbad's eyes flipped to the girl, who was walking around the hut with her hands intertwined behind her back. His ears rang from time to time, but he most certainly heard the gentle, shrill jingles of the bells at her ankles.

"So, shipwrecked, huh?" she said, her back towards him as she swiped a golden witch jar from a higher shelf. "Sorry about that, Sinbad."

"It's fine. We've been through worse," he said. He watched her intently as she turned back to face him, striding towards his side by the table. "I just hope that we can get back on our feet as soon as possible."

"Oh, you want to leave already?" she cocked an eyebrow. Her hand crept beneath the table and pulled out an old, wooden stool to sit on. "I was looking forward to getting to know you."

"You want to get to know me?" a laugh escaped Sinbad's chest. "Why?"

"You're not from Kalaraq, right?"

"Right…"

"That's all there is to it," she chirped, popping the lid off the golden jar. "I want to know all about you."

These were words that Sinbad had heard time and time again: 'I want to know all about you'. Just how often had he been asked to detail his life story? From the showbusiness in Reim to correspondence with other countries, he had been spilling his identity everywhere, staining throne room floors and inked letters like wine – cheap, watery wine. Even though his dreams were now finally materializing before him just as he'd always wished, he was beginning to lose sight of who he was. Discussing all of this with her was the last thing he'd wanted to do. Besides, what would he tell her? Would he tell her the whole truth or just the pretty parts? It all pained his head and decided it was better to let his thoughts just fall away.

"And if I refuse?"

"You could, but I have a feeling that you'll open up at some point tonight," something glinted in her expression, and she handed the jar to him. "Smell this."

Sinbad furrowed his brows, puzzled, but took the jar anyways. He brought it to his nose and was startled to realize that it smelt of a combination of things he could just barely recognize: roses, cinnamon, and some sort of fruit. "What is it?"

"Tea," she said. "It'll help with your headache."

"I don't have a–"

"–Yeah, you do."

He couldn't deny the growing pounding in his head, although whether it was because of the alcohol or his building chagrin from her snide remarks, he hadn't a clue. "What's your name?" he asked, suddenly remembering that she had fooled him into revealing his own identity but had held her own tongue.

A smile rolled across her lips. She stood up from her seat and reached into nearby cabinets, bringing out a box of matches and a beautiful kerosene oil lamp. Wordlessly, she lit the lamp, ushering light and heat into the room. It glowed orange from the counter on which it rested, and it subtly reminded Sinbad of the city. The girl sat down once again, propping her elbow on the table to rest her head in her palm. "Every leaf of this island knows my name," she said. "I'm sure you'll find out."

Her equivocal responses spun his head round faster than ever. Even so, his mouth quirked into a grin. _Hm._

"Everything okay in here?" Faraz entered the hut, carrying bundles of woolen blankets in his arms. He glanced at Sinbad and Zahra, gracing them with a smile so warm that it put the kerosene lamp to shame.

"Yup," the girl affirmed. "He can drink tea, right?"

"Yeah, just go easy on it, or you'll get even sicker," he addressed Sinbad, who nodded gratefully.

"Thank you, Faraz. We owe you a great debt," he said.

"I don't believe in debt, Sinbad. I believe things should be done without expecting anything in return, so please, accept our hospitality at ease," he encouraged, tossing a blanket to him.

 _A curious reasoning_ , Sinbad thought to himself. _I'd have to disagree, though_. He watched silently as Faraz made his way over to the girl's side and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You should get some rest, Zahra."

"I will. Don't worry," the girl assured him.

Faraz cloaked her in a blanket, ruffling her hair affectionately before moving back towards the door. "I'll see you two in the morning," and then he was gone.

A moment of silence passed, until Sinbad broke it, "Zahra, huh?"

She laughed, pulling the material tighter over her shoulders. "Do you take pride in winning little battles like that, Sinbad?"

Sinbad thought for a moment, galled but undoubtedly surprised by her analysis. "I suppose I do." This interaction was unusual. He understood that quite clearly. Besides his vision, there was one thing that wasn't particularly clear – _her._

"You're an adventurer, right?" she asked, and Sinbad couldn't tell whether the fire he saw was from the lamp behind her or from the depths of her eyes. He tried to blink it away, but it remained.

"Yeah, I am."

"So, you have adventure stories?"

"I do."

"That's all there is to it," she shifted in her seat, settling into a comfortable position.

"And if I refuse?"

Zahra tilted her head, regarding him with an utterly unreadable expression. "Are we going to go in circles like this all night long?"

"Who said anything about staying up all night?"

"Who said anything about sleeping all night?"

"I'd like to sleep at some point."

"I'd like to hear your stories at some point."

The conversation was becoming stranger by the minute, and Sinbad had had enough of these word games that fiddled with his aching head a tad too much. "You're weird."

"Rude."

"Pretty, but weird."

She frowned. "I'm interested in your reasoning to believe that I'm weird," she enunciated the last word, driving it home.

At first, this seemed like a no-brainer. Sinbad leaned forward as though he were to engage her in a rather humbling lecture on the topic of her alleged weirdness. Instead, he froze mid-air, suddenly speechless.

He was certain that she was weird. At least, he was until just a moment ago. The impromptu hesitation began to bloom inside him when he saw the expression on her face again. There wasn't anything particularly unique about it, he was sure of it, so why the hell was he wavering?

No, that's wrong.

There _was_ something unique about it. Something danced along her cheeks and down her chin and across her nose. Something flickered in the strands of her hair, and it wasn't just the light of the lamp fire. Something blazed her eyes into brightness, like molten rocks struck with a bonfire. Their browns seemed to crystallize and scintillate as though they were hardening to diamonds, and he swore that her irises flashed orange for just an instant. Behind her long, dark lashes was a burning zest, like a jungle bush shivering in the mischievous flames of pure, unadulterated curiosity.

What confounded him the most was that he couldn't grasp whether he was just hallucinating.

"No, you're not weird," he said, finally. It took him a moment to snap out of his trance – he'd been staring at her.

Just like that, as quickly as it had appeared, the flame snuffed out.

An elated smile worked its way onto her lips, and he realized that with just a mere glance his way, she'd fooled him once again.

"That's what I thought," she said. "So, are we going to sleep or are we going to talk about your adventures in the big, wide world?"

The memories of the flames slithered in his mind, ringing like chimes and the bells by her ankles.

This time, he knew better.

"Then you better get comfortable," he said. Hurt crossed Zahra's features for a moment, and Sinbad inwardly relished that little victory, too, even though it soon deflated, "cause' it's a long story."

...

"You _flirted_ with the queen of Artemyra?"

"It was worth a shot."

Zahra shook her head in bewilderment. "You really are crazy," she said.

Sinbad shrugged. "Yeah, I guess," he admitted. "But I always make it out in one piece."

She hummed in response, laying her head on her forearms as she stubbornly held her heavy gaze on him.

The fire was dimmer now. Sinbad had been telling her story after story for hours, and the oil in the lamp was running dry. Even so, the room was bright, somehow. Sinbad noted that she barely said a word throughout the entirety of his storytelling. Furthermore, despite the fact that the sun was due to rise soon, she hadn't even flinched with fatigue. Instead, he found her gawking at him, listening intently and wholeheartedly through every minute. What surprised him, even more, was that even _he_ kept awake, almost eager to tell her story after story. He quietly remembered the way a mother bird fed her chicks, beaks wide and accepting and urgent. And then he remembered her eyes.

"You're a good listener," Sinbad said.

"You're a good storyteller," Zahra replied. "I loved them all."

Something warmed in his chest. It was a familiar sensation but was also one that he hadn't felt in a surprisingly long time. "I'm glad you enjoyed them," he said, carefully lifting his blanket up and over his shoulders. "So, you like stories, huh?"

Zahra smiled sheepishly. "Was it that obvious?" she asked, looking down at her hands now. "I've never heard of adventures like yours. Especially the ones about dungeons – I still can't believe things like that exist. It's incredible."

Sinbad balked at her. "You've never heard of a dungeon?"

"Nope."

"Wow," he breathed, "but why?"

She shrugged, her nose crinkling in thought. "Well, this country is probably very behind the times. So, I wouldn't be surprised if anybody here was clueless as to what a dungeon is."

 _Weird,_ Sinbad thought to himself. According to what he's heard, Sinbad knew that more and more dungeons were appearing across the globe. The greatest leaders and kings and soldiers and adventurers were working diligently to gain dungeons' power for themselves, and thus their fame was spreading worldwide. There was no reason for any country to be oblivious to these occurrences.

Yet there must have been a reason for Kalaraq to be unaware.

"Do you have your metal vessels on you?" Zahra asked suddenly.

"Yeah, I always do."

"Would it be alright if I took a look at them?"

Hesitation washed over Sinbad. He didn't simply hand over his metal vessels to random people, typically only entrusting them to Ja'Far or a select few from the company. He was cautious, although it was impossible for others to use the powers concealed in them. Even so, he found himself gesturing to the sheathed sword that lay beside on the ground by the table. "Yeah, go ahead."

Zahra squealed a little, leaping down from her seat to crouch and grab the sword. Sinbad watched, peering over, as her fingers gingerly wrapped around the worn sheath. She stood up slowly, her gaze now fixed on the object in her hands. Her short trail back to her stool was languid and dazed, as though the thing had completely brainwashed her. The cracks and scratches of rash actions and incessant determination were hypnotizing, and her nails gently ran through each engraved rivulet. She pushed a part of the sheath down the sword's length, and a wink of silver steel glittered in the room like the north star. Zahra looked up at him, a spark of a plea in her eyes, and Sinbad nodded his permission. Beaming now, she gently unsheathed the rest of the sword, revealing the smooth, furnished metal underneath. Sinbad followed her eyes. They snaked up and down the vessel as she turned it in her hands. He noticed that they landed on the eight-pointed star at the foible, etched dark and matte against the gleaming steel. He didn't know why, but she made no move to touch this part of the sword.

"Do you miss them?" she asked, not meeting his gaze.

"Miss what?"

"Adventures."

The warm feeling in his chest returned, memories lighting up one by one in his mind like billions of fireflies.

"They were necessary stepping stones to get me where I am today," he said, pinching the fireflies between his fingertips.

"So, you _do_ miss adventures."

"I never said that."

"Oh, really?"

Sinbad frowned. "I–"

And there it was. Her head tilted towards him, and he could see it – that flame. It beckoned him to do something. It called out to him.

But she blinked, and it was gone again.

Disgruntlement tugged his lips into a frown.

"Sorry, forget that I asked," she said as she crept out of her seat. "You should get some rest."

Sinbad didn't really know what to say, and the image of the flame burned white and hot into his mind.

He reached up to untie the white cloth that held his hair together, but Zahra stopped his hand with her own. "Don't pop those stitches, keep your arms down." She stepped behind him, and with her gentle tug on the linen, his hair fell loose. Sinbad's brow flinched with surprise as he felt her fingers graze softly through the purple locks. "Your hair is really long."

"Wow, she's smart," Sinbad mocked.

"Oh, shut up," Zahra said lightly, settling back in her spot by the table.

Fatigue began to take over them both, half-lidded eyes and faint motions professing the terribly late hour of the night. Sinbad lay down on the table whilst Zahra nestled her head in the crooks of her elbows, by his side. They talked. Their conversations were now a swift, airy banter, and Sinbad found himself growing hopelessly lost in his blankets and in his drunkenness and in her eyes; the way they glowed softly in the dim orange light of the hut as she spoke quietly now, giggles escaping her lips and spilling from her irises. Fascination and wonder pre-empted Sinbad's feelings of confusion and quandary, and he felt himself disappear from the world alongside her. He laughed once. It was a sincere laugh, and it was either resultant of her own laughs or from the new, foreign warmth in his chest, but he wasn't sure which it was or whether they were even any different. After all, he was still rather drunk. They said 'goodnight' several times to each other, promising that they would 'actually go to sleep this time' over and over as if the words themselves would lull them away from consciousness. And yet, they stayed up even longer, talking in hushed voices simultaneously about just everything and absolutely nothing. Eventually, the words swallowed each other, and slumber finally crept in, sudden and all-consuming as a forest fire.

* * *

 **AAAA this was pretty difficult to write, I went on and on and on about their conversation because idk I find it kinda cute, so yeah let me know how I did in the REVIEWS please !**

 **Speaking of reviews, thank you guys soososososo much for all your kind words. They mean the world to me, for real. Like there are no words that I could use to describe the incredible feeling of happiness and appreciation and love and support I get from your reviews, faves, and follows - so thank you. Thank you so much, I love y'all from the bottom of my heart :)**

 **BIG ANNOUNCEMENT : So I just moved into uni, and omg I feel crazy because woah this is a huge ass fucking step for me cause I'm also in the middle of the city which I'm totally not used to. This entire week is orientation, and so I'll be super busy and super exhausted 24/7 because of all the shit I can do and want to do. **

**On a very serious note, I want to say that I won't be able to update for a while - probably a month or so. I have difficult courses and I don't want to distract myself too much with my story when I should be focusing most of my time on my education. My parents paid a shit ton for me to go to this school so I really, really don't want to waste this opportunity given from their sacrifices. I have a lot on my plate to deal with, and I want you guys to know that I am really dedicated to this story, I do love writing so much and I want to improve my story and my writing skills as I progress, but I am even more so devoted to my education and future success. I will continue writing this story as often as I can, and will let you guys know when it gets a little hard to update or I have writer's block or something like that. Okay? Okay.**

 **I hope you guys can understand where I'm coming from, but on that regard, I also understand the feelings of readers. SO what I will try to do instead to compensate for the less frequent updates is that I will be writing longer chapters and updating every month. Does that sound good to you guys? I know that consistency is important to readers, so I'll do my very best. However, I did note that update times will change in my past author's notes, so I hope I didn't catch too many of you off guard/disappoint y'all.**

 **Anyways ya - hope you guys enjoyed this chapter ! A good chapter to end with for now, yeah? Lots of cute shit, mystery shit, just so much shit hehehe.**

 **ALSO CHECK DEVIANTART FOR ART UDPATE!**

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 **REVIEW RESPONSES:**

 _IloveFoxes:_ WOOO thanks so much! Glad you liked Kalaraq and drunk Sin cuz he's a beaut. And thank you so much for your support with my art! And yeah I think that's the look I want Faraz to have, you know? Cute, pretty hot and sweet-looking. More on that later ;)

 _Anna_ : HAHHHAHA yEAH I'm getting so carried away by the mystery but I LOVE IT it's so fun to string you guys along sorry lmfao. And mmm maybe you're onto something there with the beast? Maybe you're not? We'll see! And yes you're absolutely right regarding incorporating my story into more canon events. I think that's something I need to practice honestly, because I'm not very good at it but as you said other author's are able to write alongside canon events flawlessly. I hope my writing will be improved by the time a lot of the canon Labyrinth shit happens, so yes it's definitely a high possibility that my story will bleed into it! And yeah, Sinbad :( But we'll see what happens, because honestly at this point I haven't thought that far ahead and don't really want to because sINNNNNN I feel so bad for that man like ugh. And haha it's okay fanfiction is being a dick to all of us at times, don't worry I totally understand your amazing review regardless of fanfiction's fuckeries :)

 _Guest:_ OH MY GOD i had no idea that was a GOT thing, I'm actually obsessed with GOT right now (for like the 10th time i swear) but I'm just starting to read the books and rewatch the shows aGAIN (i never got around to finishing either or getting very far), but I haven't seen that part that you mentioned just yet so I totally had no idea that was a GOT thing aaaaaa. So I'm so sorry that it sounds a lot like GOT, that was completely unintentional I swear because I hate copying other stories too much especially important shit like that. Then again, I feel like that phrase is commonly used in epic stories and such, so... yeah. Glad you enjoy my fanfic thus far and hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)

 **THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR EVERYTHING. Seriously though. Your reviews make my heart come alive and I literally almost cry with happiness because they're amazing and they mean so much to me as a writer. Thank you to everyone who faved and followed and everything, I love you so much.**

 **I'll see y'all in about a month ! :) Don't miss me too much hehe**

 **~AVA**


	8. Mother Instinct

**AHHHHHH!**

 **I'M BACK!**

 **AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!**

 **Hope you guys enjoy this chapter (it's a little different)!**

* * *

 **EXTRAORDINARY**

8

Mother… Instinct

" _Pari, dear."_

" _Yes, my love?"_

" _If there is one thing I have learned from being a lord, it is this: safeguard your strategy."_

* * *

 _Rurumu_

Rurumu was never one to transgress moral boundaries. She took pride in her honesty and honor, noble qualities that had been drilled into her from an early age. They were qualities that built the Imuchakk tribe from the ground up, etched into every snowflake and woolen cloth that enveloped the land and its people. She practiced what her father preached and upheld the hallmark attributes of her nation every day.

Thus, a sense of disquiet swiveled through her chest as she listened carefully to the voices around her.

She was seated at a table in the inn, where morning light shone through onto Kikiriku's forehead as he lay half-asleep in her arms. The common area was rather small, a few tables and chairs scattering the area with even fewer people. Conversations were audible given the tight space, and so Rurumu sat quietly as she slyly eavesdropped on the couple nearby. The wrongness of the action settled strangely in her stomach, but she was already familiar with dirtying her hands to reap worthwhile benefits. Sinbad's scars flashed through her mind for an instant.

"Honey, have you ever considered leaving the country?" the local woman asked. She was young, Rurumu observed, perhaps in her mid-twenties, but crow's feet at her eyes and the crinkles of her forehead might have suggested otherwise.

The man had a scruff beard, and his skin was sunburnt and calloused. A farmer, maybe. "It's not possible, my love. Not yet, at least," he said, his throat harsh.

"But we can still apply for a _Kalahm_. The children will be better off if we were in another country. We have just enough money to start a life somewhere new!"

The Imuchakk woman's ear perked. _Why would they want to leave?_ she thought to herself.

"My love, keep your voice down. We mustn't speak of this in public," the man took his wife's hand in his own, gripping it until her knuckles and expression paled white. She opened her mouth to speak up but caught sight of Rurumu from the corner of her eye. Like a frightened dog, the woman quickly looked down at her lap.

Rurumu suddenly rose from her seat to leave the room, carrying Kikiriku away with her. She heard the couple's urgent voices resume once she had stepped through the doorframe. In her arms, Kikiriku gurgled, and in her belly, she felt the subtle shift of her fourth, and suddenly it felt as though an avalanche spiked with ice tumbled through her veins, shivers whispering down her spine.

The tavern door closed behind her. Rurumu realized that she had many children to protect.

* * *

 _Sinbad_

The door to the healing hut was made with thick branches fastened together with stringy, taut rope. The soft morning glow rested silently on Sinbad's hair, illuminating bright violet locks in strips and stripes. When the light of the rising sun managed to creep its way to his cheeks, his eyelids fluttered open. He shifted where he lay and scrunched his eyes as light struck his irises. It had been a long time since he had slept so soundly. On the other hand, his head was pounding, perhaps even worse than just a few hours ago. The arrack must have hardened to cement and crept its way to his skull, for he felt as though his head weighed at least ten pounds.

Zahra, as he noticed, was still resting soundly beside the table, her head furrowed in her arms, hair splayed about. Sinbad carefully brought his legs over the table to pop through the door and into the bright light of late dawn.

He breathed deeply. The air was fresh and new like the day, swollen with the scent of flowers opening for the sun and perfumed tree barks. The land was much lusher than he could recall from the night before. His father used to tell him stories about how the darkness was an impeccable master of deception, hiding even the most obvious of demons and dangers in its depths. He'd explain to his son that even the ugliest of things become gorgeous in the absence of light, and vice versa.

It would have been even better if he could properly see his father's face again, since the details of it were slowly disappearing from his memories.

This was no longer possible, though.

The breeze was nice.

Somehow, Sinbad had paid little to no attention to the man dozing away in a chair nearby. The river of his thoughts must've carried him too far off the ground, he realized. Snores rippled gently out of the man's lips as he lay there beneath the shade of a palm tree. He was young, maybe only five or six years older than himself. His jagged, navy hair sprouted like wildgrass from the wrap of his black bandana. Sinbad approached cautiously.

"Hello? Sir?" Sinbad asked. No response. He leaned down, waving his hand languidly over the man's face, gambling. Suddenly, gleaming brown eyes snapped open, and Sinbad felt as though his every stitch came undone in the exact same moment. _Fucking hell_ , he thought to himself, _why do I do this to myself?_

"The hell do you think you're doing, punk?"

The chair clattered, Sinbad's legs were swept from beneath him, and in a matter of blurred seconds, he was in a death-lock amidst the stranger's arms.

Sinbad's sickness worsened tenfold. "W-Wha–"

"Shut up, or I'll beat the living shit out of you," the man threatened. "I can't believe Faraz let a deadbeat like you stay the night. I should beat the shit out of him too, that kind-hearted, motherfucking, son of a bitch," he said.

The foul language meant nothing to Sinbad, passing in one ear and out the other. He could only think about how soon he would black out as his neck and stomach were squeezed tighter and tighter. Thinking back to his sparring with Masrur and Hinahoho, he recalled the time when his spirit conquered his reason and had consequently been injured so badly it had taken days to reach a full recovery. _I should stop getting myself into shit like this._ The stranger was strong, but there was a tension in his skin that whispered, 'this _is_ personal'.

"I-I didn't do," the grip hardened around his throat, and he squeaked, "a-anything!"

"Oh yeah? You didn't do anything? Good, because you know what would happen if you _did_ do anything?" the man growled, his breath by his victim's ear. "First, I'd gouge your eyeballs out, then I'd cut up every fucking inch of your–"

"Rohan!"

Air unexpectedly _swoosh_ ed down Sinbad's windpipe. He gasped as his body shrieked for oxygen. The arms slinked from his body, and he found himself staggering on his feet, coughing his lungs out and trying desperately to inhale at the same time. He looked up to see the man named Rohan approach Zahra, appalled that his attention diverted so quickly.

"He didn't do anything to you, right?"

"Shit, Rohan! I'm fine!" Zahra screeched at him. "But did you really have to fight our guest, too?" she gestured to Sinbad, who was still struggling to grasp the past few moments.

"I'm not going to apologize for protecting you."

"I don't need your protection." Zahra said.

"'I don't need your protection,'" Rohan mocked in a sing-song, nasal tone.

The girl's hands threw her frustration in the air. "You're so annoying."

A regular rhythm of breathing began to return to Sinbad's chest. Still, his words were a wheeze, "Who is he?"

"Your worst nightmare," Rohan said.

"My brother," Zahra corrected.

Sinbad's response was a meek nod, his lips sealed with intimidation. Upon further inspection, it was clear that they were siblings. Strangely, their hair differed in color, but the thickness and texture were unmistakeably alike. They resembled each other, with strong, nimble body structures, sun-kissed skin, and carbon copies of big, deep brown eyes. There _was_ , however, a substantial height difference. Siblings, nonetheless.

"Why can't you leave me alone for just twenty-four hours?"

"I'm your brother. We live together. That's basically impossible, Zahra."

"True… why the hell haven't you moved out yet?"

"I'm working on it."

"Wow, you work?"

"You know damn well that I do, you little–"

At a loss, Sinbad watched as they bickered. It felt strange to watch drama unfold in front of his eyes, considering that he was conventionally at the center of it. It was refreshing, in a sick sort of way. A sibling would have been nice. Remnants of his father's face flickered in his thoughts.

"Mother's worried, again," Rohan said, his voice suddenly lower.

"Is that supposed to surprise me?" Zahra replied.

"It's supposed to make you guilty and beg her for forgiveness. Besides, you and this boy," he jeered at Sinbad, "must come home with me. I believe Faraz has already gathered his friends at the village square, and it would be rude of us to keep our _guests_ waiting, now wouldn't it?"

Zahra reluctantly agreed. "Fine. Let's get going, then."

"Woah, woah, woah," Sinbad felt his senses finally return. "So, you expect me to just tag along? What, when a second ago _you_ ," he looked at Rohan, "tried to kill me with your bare hands?"

"Don't tempt me. I'll do it for real next time," the older man said. Sinbad's innards coiled.

"So, what're you going to do, Sinbad?" Zahra asked. "Just hang around here while being totally uneducated as to where in the hell you are?"

He knew that she was right. There was no purpose for him to remain there, only that it would serve his ego wonderfully. From the moment he could crawl, Sinbad had never been a pushover. It was a feat to convince him that he was in the wrong. He almost never was, anyways. Almost. For here he was, in the wrong, and was being thrown this way and that, bouncing off his uncharacteristically poor judgements. It was confusing. It didn't seem real.

Before the last of his dignity slipped out of his fingers, Sinbad said, "Pardon me, I still have a headache." A customary trick of his: when in doubt, blame it on the booze.

Zahra's frown was crinkled, but before Sinbad could make any sense of it, it disappeared. "Right. So, let's go," she said, as she turned on her heel and marched.

"Wrong way," her brother said flatly.

"Shit."

* * *

 _Malik_

"My lord."

"Not now, Khaleel."

The boy named Khaleel pressed forward. "But, my lord–"

"I said 'not now'. Do you understand, or must I send you to tend to the hunting dogs again?"

Again, he pushed on, perseverant for once in his life. "A-Another man was k-killed."

Lord Malik froze in his steps, the very last one echoing below fifty-foot ceilings. He was typically impatient with this fool of a vizier, Khaleel or whatever his name was. However, those four words had a tendency of grabbing his attention like nothing else could, no matter how many times he had heard them over the years.

"Who?" the lord asked.

"A f-farmer from the w-western orchards," answered Khaleel. Malik's head went light, and he swore that the marble floors were caving beneath him.

"What was his name?"

"Hr-Hrithik."

The dizziness left Malik's head as quickly as it appeared. "What of it, then?"

"Lord Malik, d-don't you think the King o-ought to–"

"The King is doing everything in his power to address the issue!" his voice thundered through the hall, where even the water of the indoor pools quivered at the sound.

Khaleel desperately tried to hide his worsening stutters, but to no avail. "M-My Lord, s-surely there is s-something the K-K-King can do to h-help the afflicted fa-families?"

The lord knew about the complaints. He couldn't even begin to count the number of times a mother, aunt, daughter or father had thrown themselves at his feet, begging for help. Just the other day, a boy, no older than five, had walked up to him in the streets of the Capital, tugging on his robes as he asked where his big brother was. Malik pinched the bridge of his nose, the memory resurfacing for the third time that day.

"How many people are standing outside the palace gates today?"

"T-Taj counted s-seventy-four, my lord."

Malik nodded. _Nine more than last week._

"There are r-rebels."

"I'm not surprised."

"The f-foreign merchants are complaining of upcoming r-riots, as well." Again, this information was nothing new to Malik, who had kept his ears to the ground ever since this whole chaos started. As a lord of Kalaraq, this was expected of him. For a moment, the gold gilded pillars and the stillness of the palace seemed foreign, as if he was an alien in such a place. In a way, he was; he never considered himself government-material, or anything-material for that fact.

However, Malik knew more than anything in the world that it was far too late in his life to have an existential crisis.

So he threw those thoughts away.

"Khaleel, why are you telling me all this?" he asked, his eyes narrowed to slits.

The vizier shuffled in his stance, and sudden understanding crushed Lord Malik like a leaden boulder. Despite his praised wisdom, Malik's strange vulnerability to heedlessness was awe-inspiring at times. His wife's nagging about it was still fresh.

Khaleel said nothing, and the silence pained the lord's ears like a blaring bell tower.

Lord Malik placed his hands on the boys' shoulders, bones sharp with malnutrition. "Khaleel," he remembered, "the King _has_ taken action. Over three hundred additional men have been deployed to patrol the borders of The Deep Jungle alone. Further studies are being conducted at the island's greatest academia centers, where the philosophers and scientists are working day and night to figure out what kind of beast is living in this island and why it's attacking our people. The people's taxes are hard at work, funding further research into the island's _magoi_ and your father will surely–" he stopped himself. There was a strange look on the boy's face, the tension in his shoulders shifted, and his whole disposition changed from that of a gray, weeping sky to a lifeless fog.

"I understand, my Lord," Khaleel shrank from his lord's grip. "I trust that King Aarzan will keep my father alive in the fields. Please excuse me."

Malik watched as he bowed then walked away.

The boy hadn't stuttered.

* * *

 _Ja'Far_

Mist splattered against Ja'Far's cheeks. He was no match for Kalaraqi heat, so the shower from the village fountain was refreshing and well-needed.

"It's so hot," Hinahoho whined, fanning his face with his brawny hand. "Why is it so damn hot?"

"This is average Kalaraqi weather," Faraz explained. "Blue skies, crisp sun, and a gentle breeze."

"They don't feel as good as they sound," Mystras groaned. "These clothes really help, though," he said whilst tugging his shirt back and forth to cool himself.

Ja'Far pulled himself to sit up. "Are you sure she's okay with us staying with her?" he asked Faraz.

"Yeah, yeah. She's a sweetheart, even though she is kind of scary at times," a far-off look crossed Faraz's face. "She's happy to host you guys as long as you're here."

"That's so kind," said Mystras, "but how can we repay her? We lost everything we had in the crash."

"What? Don't worry about that," Faraz waved his hand dismissively. "We're taking care of you because we want to. We don't expect anything in return."

 _Yeah, right._

"You have our thanks," Hinahoho said.

Formalities and stiff words. Ja'Far couldn't grasp the air of the conversations he'd had thus far. Recent memories of the night before were aroused in his mind. Pari had been kind, so kind, and had offered them bedding and food and clothes and Ja'Far couldn't help but feel suspicious of it all. These people were too kind, too warm, too good to be true. After years of managing the business world, he's discovered the secret to getting what he wanted: asking. He always put it to good use, especially when all he wanted was to just cut to the chase.

"So, what's with this place?"

"Huh?" Faraz eyed him strangely. "What do you mean?"

The fact that the older man appeared ignorant and clueless on the matter of what Ja'Far knew he knew fumed him even more. Questions unfurled like a grand, Parthevian rug. "Why the hell haven't we seen Kalaraq on maps before? Why were we shipwrecked? How come only merchants come here? Why is there this weird atmosphere and who the hell even are you and why are you being so nice to us?" Ja'Far found himself panting, but from his anger or the heat, he didn't know nor care.

Mystras' and Hinahoho's lips parted with shock, but any words of alarm or retribution were held back in their throats.

"Those are heavy questions, kid."

"Don't call me 'kid.'"

"Sorry, it's Ja'Far, right?"

There was a silence of confirmation.

Faraz sighed. "Alright, Ja'Far. It's true, you have been through a lot and you still have no answers to any of the questions you may have. Believe me, I understand your frustration."

Ja'Far was silent again. It took all his strength to wring a venom of sarcasm back.

"But you have to understand that there's a lot to know about this country, its culture, government history, and its _people_ ," he turned to the other foreigners, "and you will get your answers soon enough."

"Fine, fine," Ja'Far finally admitted with a pout. When it came to the truth, he really wasn't the most patient of people.

Faraz looked at him kindly, but to Ja'Far, it appeared that it was out of pity. "We should wait for Sinbad to return. I'm sure he'd be interested in any information we can provide you with."

The rust-haired knight was looking into the horizon. "Speak of the devil."

* * *

 _Pari_

"Are you sure this is a good idea, mom?" Pari's daughter asked her.

"Yeah, you've never done anything like this before. Are you sure you can handle it?" her son inquired.

"We just hope that you don't work yourself too hard. Especially since your husband is currently overseas," Faraz said.

Pari understood the concerns of the children. But, frankly, she was growing tired of their nagging and their elaborate troubles. They had been bugging her from the moment she reunited with the group by the fountain. Solomon, she wished her husband were here. They always listened to him. "Would you three be quiet for a minute?"

Obeying, they hushed themselves. A wise move, since they were standing only a few feet away from the fountain, where Sinbad, Mystras, Hinahoho, and Ja'Far stood whispering among themselves as well. Who could blame them? They were lost, abandoned in an unknown land with little to nothing to protect themselves. They were only children, after all, and children weren't meant to fend for themselves.

She could understand all these possibilities.

"But, don't you find it weird, mom?" asked Zahra.

"What do you mean?" Pari replied.

"It's just that… isn't it strange that these people actually made it here? I mean, they're not merchants. They've never even _heard_ of Kalaraq before. How could they have possibly got into the country without a _kalahm_ pass?"

"Yeah. All kinds of weird things have been happening around here. Shit's getting crazy," Rohan said thoughtfully.

"Language, young man!"

"Zahra swears too, mom!"

"Don't expose me like that!" Rohan's sister snapped.

"Oh sorry. Forgot, can't have you looking worse than you already are."

"Asshole."

"Bitch."

"You motherf-"

In a matter of seconds, the siblings were at each others' necks and entangled in a verbal brawl. Pari ran a hand through her hair, exasperated but well-accustomed to the fighting.

"What's the name of that girl you were screwing the other day when you were supposed to be at work?"

"Don't go there, Zahra."

"Omaira, was it?"

"Z!"

"Yeah, with the pink hair. Can't believe she came all the way up here to see _you_. What did she call you again? 'Roro' was it?"

"I'm gonna kill you."

"Why? Was it a kink, ' _Roro'_?"

"I'm gonna fucking kill you."

Zahra's hair was splattered around her face, strands plastered to her sun-blushed cheeks. _I ought to put that hair back in braids_ , Pari thought to herself. That was how Pari preferred it: neat and controlled and clean. It took a great deal of convincing to finally allow her daughter to wear her hair loose. Maybe it should've taken more. Rohan never took his forehead-baring bandana off; one of the many unsaid obligations as the sweet, firstborn son. The mother watched her children snap at each other back and forth, like pups nipping at each others' ankles.

"STOP!" Pari exclaimed. Zahra and Rohan immediately went quiet, but the fire of their argument still churned in their throats, begging to burst like an incontinent volcano. Pari would have none of it.

"But–"

"Uh-uh!"

"She's so–"

"Quiet!"

The siblings struck one last glare at each other before silencing for good. How they managed to become incessantly angry with each other eluded both her and her husband.

"Anyways," Faraz returned the violent conversation to a productive one, "do you really think it's a good idea to take them in? We don't know anything about them. They could be spies for all we know."

"This isn't a fairy tale," said Pari.

"It's true, though," Rohan defended. "I've heard that the wars between Reim and Parthevia have everyone on guard."

Zahra's ears perked at the news. "Really?"

"Yeah. There's so many rumors going around in the–"

Rohan's voice caught in his throat. Pari blew him a solemn, steady look, sending the word 'Capital' back into his gut.

"Enough of that nonsense," she said. "We need not concern ourselves with the outside world and its problems. Right now, our primary goal is taking care of our country and helping these boys." She looked out towards the castaways, who now seemed bored. Squinting, Pari could see Mystras kicking dust into the air with an uncharacteristically distrait glaze over his eyes.

There was no doubt in Pari's mind that if she turned to face Faraz, she would see _that_ look, the one where his eyebrows perked in such a peculiar, goading way that made you feel ever so guilty for what you have or haven't done or what you have yet to do. It was an ironically crippling look. Zahra complained about it since they were little, comparing it to the ability of some eastern goddess. Pari hated that crazy old man in the library for filling her daughter's head with all kinds of nonsense. Nevertheless, she understood _that_ story.

Inhaling sharply, Pari avoided Faraz's mossy eyes.

 _Safeguard your strategy._

* * *

"What is it, honey? Why do you look so–"

"Hinahoho, we need to leave. _Now_."

* * *

 _Zahra_

 _About 10 years ago…_

Going on an adventure was no easy task. Zahra figured this out quickly, as she grumbled to herself about the rope burn on her hands. She looked up at the window that she had climbed out from. _Rather safe than sorry_ , she thought to herself, and tugged the hanging rope to ensure it was fastened in her room for her return.

That is, if she _did_ return.

" _If you want to go, go!"_

Her mentor's encouragement rumbled through her chest, and she shook the dissuading thought out of her head. Excitement thrummed to life as she began marching towards the jungle. The leather satchel over her shoulder was too big for her, as it slapped her hip with every step. However, it was a gift from her father, so she carried it nonetheless. She packed a few things in it. A book, of course, ink and a feather, a notepad, a magnifying glass she stole from the rich folk next door, an extra hair tie, a pink crystal from Faraz's garden, a water canteen (that she forgot to refill), a small jar trimmed with dull gold, and a baggie filled with sweets. She had figured that if she were to die, she would die with a few of her favorite things. _Happy thoughts,_ she battled her mind, _Happy thoughts, Zahra!_

The girl soon reached the village borders. She stood there for a few minutes, her mind running at a mile a minute as she debated between going on a great, dangerous, exciting adventure, or returning unscathed to the safety of her home. The deep depths of the jungle before her were almost hypnotizing, lush plants of all sorts hued juniper and basil flushing to black as they receded from the village. There was a unique scent to it, too, something thick and humid and fresh emanating from it like heat from fire. It was magnetic, and yet resistant at the same time, as though it spoke: 'Do not come near. Do not fall into temptation.'

Zahra began walking towards it anyways.

As if her feet had a mind of their own, she found herself walking hazily into the misty undergrowth. Her hands found the ends of her braids, and she pulled out the linen ties that held them in place. She tossed them to the side and shook her head, releasing her hair from their twisted confines. She hated those braids. The grass beneath her grew taller, unkempt, sweeping at her bare legs and coaxing her in. The ground was uneven, and she held onto passing trees and rocks to keep steady as she looked back at her village one last time before disappearing into the mystery of her homeland.

The darkness amazed her. She could barely see a few feet in front of her before the thickets became inky again. It was as though she was walking through the night sky itself. She grinned at the thought of it. The leaves and trees brushed her skin as she walked, slapping her in the face sometimes. Tangled, gnarly knots of roots threatened to trip her, eager to throw her down flat on the ground. It was quiet, save for the insects and crickets screeching from every direction. Zahra spotted several strange plants, one caught her eye, with leaves covered in bumps that were akin to boils on skin. As much as she wanted to run her fingers over the strange texture, she remembered how Elijah had been attacked by thousands upon thousands of ghost-ants after touching a weird plant. Casting her curiosity to the wind, she turned away. Continuing her trek, Zahra found herself huffing and puffing as she crawled through the jungle that almost screamed at her to get out.

She didn't listen, though.

She never did.

Soon, the seven-year-old found a gargantuan log obstructing her path, about ten feet in diameter that extended from darkness to darkness. Curious brown eyes rolled up and down, side to side, and Zahra approached it cautiously. Palm and _moonga_ and other tropical trees were what she was accustomed to seeing. They were small and delicate and easy to knock down. She wondered how the mammoth plant before her had collapsed.

Her fingers found themselves running over the roughness of the bark, until they touched something cold and wet.

Perturbed, Zahra yanked her hand away, gazing at the substance on her hand. The absence of light made her squint, but she could make out what seemed to be a deep red staining her skin.

Then, something shattered inside her.

 _Blood?_

Leaves rustled and she twirled on the ball of her foot to face the sound.

There was something there.

The strength in her knees began to slip away, and the once overwhelming courage in her chest left her skin through her sweat. The bushes continued to shift and shiver, but she couldn't see anything beyond the soft glimmer of the leaves under moonlight. She found herself stepping away until her back pressed up against the surface of the fallen tree. Zahra clutched the folds of her leather bag, cursing herself for not bringing a knife or anything to defend herself with. Her gaze remained fixated on the moving brush, and the gravity of the situation threatened to drag her tears out.

After what felt like an eternity of panic, fight or flight finally kicked in, and Zahra immediately began running alongside the length of the log and into the darkness. The ground was thick and filled with pebbles, rocks, roots, pricking at her skin and cramping the arches of her feet. Her heart pounded, and her small lungs pumped as hard as they could. She could've sworn she heard the hissing of leaves run after her. Up a small hill and over a rock she zoomed, her arms outstretched as she desperately grasped for the world around her. A mess of hanging vines entangled her wild limbs, trapping her in their tendrils. The air felt hotter than ever, and it was though she could feel the monster's breath grazing down her back. Led by horror and instinct, she yanked and squirmed until the vines snapped, releasing her writhing form as she continued her sprint. Finally, after running for some time, the roots of the fallen tree came into view. They were enormous, stretching out like a burly, thick wall in all directions. Zahra tried to run around them, but again, they were too big. Even if she did try to find her way around them, she couldn't: a giant boulder blocked her path. Breathing heavily, she whipped around, looking for other exits but finding none.

The _swish_ of leaves and trees continued to follow, growing louder and louder and Zahra didn't know what else to do but to latch onto the tree's roots and hopelessly try to climb them. There were needle-like formations spiking out of the wall of gnarled roots, scraping and jabbing at her fingers and toes as she heaved hand and foot up and up to reach the other side. The child's body was light, easy to maneuver, but the distorted roots made her twist and turn to grapple whatever she could reach.

She was strong, but the shaking of her knees became her demise.

Horrified, she felt herself tumbling back down to the ground, where she landed with a _thump_ and a yelp.

The tears began to fall silently, and Zahra was glad that nobody else was there to see her cry. Especially Rohan. He probably would have laughed at her. She looked up at the jungle before her, the leaves moving violently in her shallow field of vision.

"Who's there? Come out!" she screamed, her voice cracking at the end. The monsters in the epics she read seemed easy to take down. Maatanga heard endless complaints from the child about how the heroes and protagonists of the stories always made stupid mistakes, getting clumsy and cowardly in the face of a threat. Yet, now, as she sat slumped and defeated in the presence of something alien, great, powerful, and dangerous, she felt like a flea in comparison to Elijah.

To her greatest surprise and terror, a strange sound permeated the air; a response.

It was an awful, piercing growl, and the ominous glow of pink eyes in the dark depths made Zahra pray for Solomon's mercy this one last time.

She gulped. Dying was something she hadn't really thought about before. But, neither was being scared.

 _So why am I scared now?_

The pink eyes approached, but Zahra did not waver.

* * *

 **HELLOOOO my lovely readers!**

 **Soooo i know this was a bit of a weird chapter, lots of flip-flopping between 'povs' and themes going on, but honestly I just wanted to get a chapter out ASAP (I'm already a week late i'm sorry), AND I wanted to provide some insight into Zahra and Rohan's relationship from outsiders' perspectives, yeah? Let me know how it worked. Zahra took a big break from this chapter so you don't get to see her too much in here, but I really wanted to get in on Pari and Rohan and Ja'Far and the ultragoddess Rurumu because DON'T WORRY I did not forget about her :))**

 **Anyways, I wanted to say THANK YOU guys so much for all your support. I'm so sorry that I've been so delayed with updates but I actually have so much fucking homework it's insane. and i've been partying a lot too. im sorry. im sorryyyryryry. So yeah, thanks for putting up with my bullshit and thank you sososososo much for all the reviews, faves, and follows, they mean THE WORLD to me.**

 **OH - ART UPDATE! check it:**

deviantart(.com)/ada-01

 **Annnddddd REVIEW RESPONSES:**

 _Guest:_ hahaha true! thanks for helping me feel better about that lmaooo. And yeah glad you liked the chapter! Zahra has a pASTTT so I kind of need to you know?

 _Anna:_ welcome back! and glad that you liked Sin and Zahra's interaction. Honestly it was the most difficult part to write because I'm trying to capture their 'first impression expressions' while also explaining major themes in the story AND keeping sinbad drunk lmfao. AND I hope that this chapter made you feel better about Rurumu - she's safe! for now... jkjk she's okay dw :) And thank you so much for believing in my canon abilities aHHHHh! I hope that I can make it work because I think I'm gonna do it hehe (check deviantart for slightt visual spoiler on that note. v slight. oh so slight.) And yes - I will make sure that I put life ahead of my writing!

 _w6PK1, G5xiX, lxqce_ : SUHHHHH MA DUDES.

 _GUEST:_ THANK YOU!

 _guest:_ Yayyy thanks so much! Hope you enjoy it so far!

so i'm re-reading my rant about that one troll comment I got and realized it was pretty frickin immature and was just the spur of my bitchy emotions coming through - sorry you had to see that guys (i just edited it a bit because it's not like i can just erase it and take it all back)

Alright, so I don't know if this person who commented on my last chapter _actually_ implied that I was LITERALLY reviewing my own story. The reason that I'm confused is because the notion of that is just so ridiculous that I can't even fathom it. If this person actually was saying that I am literally logging out of my account, and commenting as anonymous users and guests on my OWN STORY, then I honestly have little to no words to describe the absurdity of that statement.

I would never, ever do that. Sure, there's a part of me that wants more reviews because hey I'm human I like more reviews and I'm not afraid to admit that. At the same time, reviews are individually important to me. When I say that your reviews mean the WORLD TO ME, I MEAN IT. You guys don't understand that I actually tear up with happiness because I'm always worried that my work is just absolute shit sometimes, so the fact that you guys actually appreciate my hard work makes my heart soar. I love that you guys love my work. Therefore, I would NEVER water down the importance of your words with my own just to make my story look better. My readers mean everything to me - and I want to make them happy. I would never, ever take the review section for granted like that.

So what am I getting at, really?

This: I don't write any of the reviews on my story. *two middle fingers for the rude reviewer* Sorry to disappoint.


	9. Academia

**AHHHH HERE WE GO AGAIN! ENJOY BABES!**

* * *

 **EXTRAORDINARY**

9

Academia

* * *

 _Sinbad_

"I don't like this."

"We know, Hina."

"There's just something weird in the air," Mystras buried his sandalled foot into the ground. "Am I the only one who gets that vibe?"

"No," Hinahoho said. "You're definitely not the only one. There's something off. I can feel it."

"But it looks like we'll have to put up with it for now."

Ja'Far's words rang true in Sinbad's ears. With little to survive, they needed to make as many friendships as possible. With shoulders offered up so easily, it was nearly impossible to refuse leaning on them, if only for a fleeting moment. Sinbad glanced over to their caretakers who were standing at a distance, their voices mumbling and muddling as Zahra's mother pursed her wrinkled lips and Faraz watched her carefully. Then, as if he were hypnotized, he froze as Zahra herself glanced his way from the corner of her eye. It was a swift exchange as she quickly averted her gaze to Rohan, but Sinbad felt something unpleasant linger on the surface of his irises.

"Ja'Far's right. We have to work with the hand we're given, so let's take advantage of the opportunity that we've come across," he said.

Footsteps approached, and Sinbad straightened his posture as Rohan and Zahra returned to their side by the fountain. Water sprinkled their dark hair, leaving the strands dusted in glitter underneath the brightness of afternoon sun rays.

"Where did Pari and Faraz go?" Hinahoho asked.

"They're going to prepare dinner for tonight," Zahra responded, "and you'll all be coming with us."

"And where exactly will you be taking us?" Ja'Far asked.

"Chill out, kid. We're not gonna kill you in a dark alley," Rohan snickered.

"Don't call me 'kid'!"

" _Ja'Far_ ," Zahra emphasized his name, "we're taking you guys to a research center."

"So, we're test subjects then?" Mystras exclaimed, eyes wide. These words shouldn't have affected Sinbad so poorly, but they did. His stomach cartwheeled and his throat tightened with acid. It took all the strength in his body to fight down the bile.

"No!" Rohan's hand slapped against his forehead. "We're trying to help you motherfuckers–"

"What Rohan means to say is that we're going to help you find your grounds."

"And what does that mean?" Sinbad asked, a twinge of concern on his tongue.

Zahra sighed, exasperated. "You'll have to trust us and find out."

"Sin?" Mystras called out.

"Yeah?"

"Your eyes are a little red."

"Oh," Sinbad responded. "They're just kinda itchy," he said as he rubbed them with the back of his hand. _._

* * *

 _Rohan_

The village itself was rather small, at least it appeared so to Rohan after living there for his entire life. The majority of the homes were reasonably sized huts built from stone and concrete, some of the more wealthy inhabitants blessed with the ability to inlay their columns and door handles with gold rather than iron. Streets were unpaved, pale dust weaving in and around homes and inns and taverns and shops, save for the one or two that were studded with smooth cobblestones. A few stones were missing, and Rohan remembered how he and Zahra had used to dig them up as 'souvenirs' when they were children. He could still feel the dirt under his fingernails.

"So how much longer until we reach this 'research center'?" Mystras inquired.

"We're pretty close. Why? Do your feet hurt?" Rohan asked.

"No, it's just that it's really, really hot."

Indeed, it was. Sweat trickled down his cheeks, but he was well-accustomed to the heat, like most other Kalaraqi. He glanced over at Zahra, whose cheeks, nose and shoulders were flushed pink and sleek with sweat. She wasn't feeling well, and he was sure of it, even though she was clearly trying to hide her discomfort hopelessly. Her eyes were glazed over and her hair melded into her skin. He somehow acknowledged her strength as a runner over the years, but her steps were pained and her posture was weak. She looked like shit. _Fucking idiot_ , Rohan thought.

Two young boys ran by, their bare, scrawny feet kicking dust into the air. Their laughs turned to whispers upon seeing the foreigners, but one glance from Rohan had them scurrying away faster than they had appeared.

"You scared them off," Zahra deadpanned. "You _actually_ scared them off."

"I can't help that I'm tall, okay?"

"Freak."

"Weirdo."

"Do you two always argue like this?" Hinahoho asked. "Because I have kids and—"

"No, it's just that he's really annoying."

"Actually, it's because she's a know-it-all who never listens."

" _What_ did you just—"

"Woah!" Mystras exclaimed suddenly, pointing to an enormous statue in the middle of the street. It was a man of dull gold, sitting rather relaxed on a throne and holding a staff that was probably taller than the man himself. His crown was made with tall strips of matted gold, sprouting from the circumference of his head with an asymmetric aesthetic. The rim of it glittered with various gemstones under the light of the sun. Even his eyes were replaced with deep, lifeless sapphires. No matter how many times Rohan had seen it, he could never adjust to the eerie aura of it.

"Who is that?" Hinahoho asked.

"It's our King," Zahra said, slightly out of breath. "It's a solid gold statue of our King."

"That's your King?" Ja'Far cocked an eyebrow. "Isn't that a little bit much?"

"They say that the rim of his crown is encrusted with at least a hundred different kinds of precious and semi-precious gemstones from all over the island," Rohan added.

"It's actually eighty-three," his sister corrected. He looked at her as if she were a beast. "What? I got curious and counted them, once," she defended.

Sinbad approached the statue, analyzing it up and down, drinking in every detail of it. "I've got a feeling that your people don't really like this guy," he said, motioning to the thing.

There wasn't much to dispute about that. Vulgar writing, wild paint, food scraps, and mud cluttered the statue and the ground around it. After all, the reasons to 'not like the guy' were innumerable, and were becoming grossly important with every passing day. Rohan shrugged, rubbing the back of his tanned neck. "Eh, people typically don't like their kings. I guess it's kind of normal."

He tried hard to ignore Zahra's quiet, half-hearted laugh.

"I see," said Sinbad. Acting was never Rohan's strong suit. On top of that, he knew that this kid would catch on quickly to the circumstances around him. To make matters worse, he also knew that Zahra was paying particular attention to this shrewdness. They exchanged glances every now and again, and Rohan would scrutinize each of their expressions each time. _Last night… they didn't...no. Even Zahra isn't reckless enough to do that._ Still, he watched their interactions–even the casual, meaningless brushes of shoulders and knowing smirks.

Still, there was something about Zahra's expression in particular that rubbed him the wrong way. It was a familiar expression. It was almost like the one when…

 _No. Forget it._

After a few more minutes of heavy steps and panting breaths under the inclement weather, they finally arrived at a mammoth building. The sheer massiveness of the structure never failed to catch Rohan off guard. Marble columns supported the enormous structure painted in a deep merlot. It was abundant in openings and concave sections that were overflowing with gold statues of angels, animals, goblins, and plants. The doors and windows were embroidered with stone-carved rims of masterful design and sculpture and dotted with rubies and tourmaline. Friezes of men and women and kings and angels lined the roofs, and the splatters of gold flaking and red paint made them appear as though they were alive in their stone crevices.

The steps on one of the stairwells drew Ja'Far's attention as they made their way up to the entrance. "There's something written on these," he pointed out. Indeed, the engravings of triangles and circles in lines seemed to indicate sentences.

"But they're not in the common tongue," Hinahoho pointed out.

"It's the Torran language," Sinbad realized. "I can't understand it anymore, though."

"I can," Zahra said suddenly. She climbed ahead of the group, her robes and hair swishing behind her. Despite her determined steps, the sun continued to bear down on her shoulders, and she walked as though there were weights attached at her ankles instead of bells. Rohan could see the restrain pouring from the tight line of her lips. Kneeling down, she let her fingers trail across the words on one of the steps. "It says, 'Man is by nature a political animal.'"

"What the hell does that mean?" Mystras asked.

"It means that man is a social creature," a voice drifted down the stairway; it was low and clear as the skies, "and that it is his participation in and dependence on a city that makes him a human at all."

"Huh?" Hinahoho blurted out.

"I think he's crazy," Mystras whispered to Sinbad, whose nod threatened to snap his neck in two.

Rohan grinned. "It's good to see you again, Uncle," he said, as a man approached the group at the stop of the stairs, gazing down upon them with a mischievous smile. His navy hair complimented sharply against the hues of his robes, deep and rich as currants and adorned with gold.

"A pleasure to see you as well, dear nephew. You are growing stronger each time we meet, and perhaps a bit taller too," he guffawed, his shoulders bouncing with each laugh. The older man sighed deeply and turned to Zahra. "Ah! Zahra, dear! Goodness, you look as beautiful as your mother did when she was your age." Rohan grimaced. Her mother _was_ the man's sister-in-law, after all. Needless to say, he was overjoyed that his father was overseas. "Have you read the book I gave you the other day?"

"Y-Yes, Uncle Balbir," Zahra stifled out. "But, I don't think I'm really interested in Sappho, to be honest. I just found her works a little…they were just too... you know… um..."

"You didn't read them, did you?"

Zahra's gaze was cast downward. "No."

"I didn't think you would. I guess you will never really get into books like that, huh?" he said, shaking his head. "Most children your age are much more interested in the light, romantic words of Sappho than the convoluted, twisted ramblings of Platora and the concepts of Stoicism and, well, philosophy." Zahra said nothing. Instead, her fingers found her arm cuffs, grazing the gold lines. Sweat was pouring down her cheeks now, and her breathing was strained. "I see you've brought guests, Rohan," said Balbir, "Am I to infer that I ought to give them the official tour?"

"That was what we were hoping for, Uncle," Rohan replied, looking back at the faces behind him. They were mixed with astonishment, confusion, and curiosity–especially from the purple-haired one. These _were_ the answers they were looking for. _I guess Uncle Balbir has that effect on people too._

"Well then, do come in. You have much to learn about our work here."

* * *

 _Lakita_

Her father used to tell her that her hair held all the knowledge of the world in them. Lakita never really understood what he meant, but she knew that he knew that she was rather clever, and that the more time she spent in the academia center meant the less time she had to go get her hair cut. There were never too many people to hang around with in the center, since Etor's academia circle wasn't as strong as the other villages'. So, most of the time she spent alone, drawing and studying and dancing in the big, beautiful halls of the facility. Visitors were few and far between, so when she saw foreign faces appear at the door by Mr. Balbir, she didn't even know how to react.

"Lakita!" he called out to her. "I know you're hiding behind that desk. I can see your hair." The girl clicked her tongue in anguish. Caught. "There's no need to hide, young one! Come, Faraz is here as well!"

"Faraz?" she poked her head above the desk. "Where is he?"

"You're going to have to come out here and see for yourself!" Balbir shouted.

"Do you take me for a fool, Mr. Balbir? I'm not playing your games!" she cried, ducking behind the desk and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Don't do that to her, Uncle. She'll be heartbroken. You know how much she loves him."

"Ah, don't worry about it, Rohan. She's fallen for it countless times."

 _Not this time!_ She thought, frowning. She hadn't seen Faraz in what felt like forever. Her calculations indicated that it had been exactly eighty-three hours and fifty-two minutes since they last spoke, and that was just over a stupid, formal dinner with their families. Rummaging through her small notebook, Lakita found the next date that she'd see him again—in roughly twenty-two hours, according to the sundial in the middle of the floor. Until then, she'd have to find other ways to spend her time. She could re-learn the lessons on pre-calculus, or she could pick up a book on astrophysics and have a go at that, or maybe she could—

"Hi there," a voice interrupted her thoughts. Lakita squeaked, scrambling away to get a good look at the gentle tone that implored her attention. "Oh! I didn't mean to scare you!"

"Of course you didn't. Who would want to scare a little girl?" the young man seemed surprised by her response. "Who are you?" Lakita growled.

"My name's Sinbad," he smiled easily, anyways. "It's nice to meet you. Your name is Lakita, right?"

"It is," she replied curtly. "What's it to ya?"

"Well, I'd like to be your friend, Lakita," Sinbad said with a light laugh. "You have beautiful hair, did you know that?"

Lakita's chest swelled with pride. "You have beautiful hair too, Mr. Sinbad." she said. He stretched a hand out to her, and she looked at it strangely, as though it were a difficult math problem and she was absolutely bewildered as to how to approach it. She looked up to his eyes, and suddenly she somehow was able to grasp the utter profundity in the gold of them. It wasn't like the gold she wore on her arms or the gold she'd seen everywhere else in the country. No, it was a different type of gold.

Still, she placed her hand in his, enchanted. There was a term she learned a few days back—deja vu. She didn't really understand it in concept. It wasn't crisp and clear and simple like arithmetic. But it seemed to be the only term that fit the feeling in her chest as he swooped her into his arms as though she weighed nothing more than a feather. "I'm not so scary, see?" he said as she settled comfortably on his hip.

"You're not nearly as handsome as Faraz," Lakita asserted, "but I guess you'll do for now."

Sinbad carried her over to the others, smiling triumphantly. Balbir laughed heartily, "You have a way with kids!" he said, to which Lakita pouted, blushing humbly. "So, sweetheart, would you like to show these young men around?"

The girl looked at the man holding her in his arms, whose gentle gaze burned with eagerness and kindness and patience. Then, she felt like a mirror.

She grinned cheekily. "With pleasure, Mr. Balbir."

* * *

 _Faraz_

It was unpleasantly cold inside of Zahra's home. As long as he could remember, Faraz always remembered her house being warm and homely, the fires of the various torches and candles spreading a soft marmalade color on their walls. Still, his hands felt numb as he sliced the fruits on the countertop.

"How many more do you need to cut, Faraz?" Pari called out from the other side of the room.

"Just a few more." He liked to think that his patience was abnormally endurant. At least, that is what every other person in the village had told him. Even so, he could barely wait to finally put the knife down.

"Ah, it was so much easier when we had music tools to heat up our food and cook, no?" Pari said wistfully, settling a pot atop the flames that she sparked from a deep, stone bowl flush with the countertop itself. "If only we could do such things again."

If only they could. However, Faraz, no, everyone knew that such a time lay in the distant future.

A sharp sizzle erupted from the bowl, snapping Faraz out of his thoughts. Pari laughed. "Solomon, the _cornia_ leaves never cease to surprise me!" she said, stirring stiff, green leaves dark and soggy with hot coconut oil. "They will be absolutely delicious with the chicken, though. Along with some paprika, _tamei_ , and–"

"What is it that you hope to accomplish?" the words slipped from Faraz's mouth before he even realized it. He held a half-cut fruit in his hand.

"That's unusual."

"What is?"

"You spoke out of turn. It's very uncommon of you to behave this way," Pari said. Faraz watched as she sprinkled strong spices and dropped chopped vegetables into the bowl. Pari looked at him once before returning to her work, and all he could think about was how truly gray her expression was; as dead as a night fog. Solomon, how she frightened him.

"Forgive me. I didn't mean to offend you."

"Of course you didn't. You would never do that, would you, sweet thing?"

Her words strung him up, tightening around his wrists and ankles and mouth and but leaving his tongue free but reminding it to be cautious. Zahra always spoke to him about it, how she played games with her mother, how their conversations were battles of wit and not of wisdom, and how dangerous a single slip of the lips meant the difference between what seemed like life and death. He had always thought she was just crazy, with all the stories she'd read stirring up absurd thoughts in her head like sneaking out, and all the nonsense about the jungle–always the jungle, the jungle, the jungle. Yet at some point, he began to trust her word.

He trusted it more than ever in this moment.

"I don't mean to pry, but I'm curious," he paused, selecting his next words as though they were needles in bundles of hay, "as to why the foreigners inspired you to take such good care of them?"

 _That should do it_.

"Faraz," Pari walked to his side, her bare feet sweeping the floor softly, "you do know that there are many things wrong with this country, correct?"

"I do."

"You also know that there are many things that ought to be changed around here?"

"Yes."

"Then you must also acknowledge that many people have tried to bring these changes forth and make them real. Right?"

"I guess so."

"Well, can you name any changes that have, say, happened?" she asked. "Are all of our people free from suffering? Is the beast in the jungle dead? Can we take out our magic tools, clean them up, and use them again? Are we even in proper contact with the rest of the world?"

For a moment, Faraz searched his memories. He knew he would find nothing, and still, he searched, pleading for some sort of a light of hope. He found only darkness.

"No."

"So it seems that the people of Kalaraq haven't been able to do anything about all the ways in which this country is on a sure path to destruction," Pari said, casually adjusting the shawl on her shoulders. "Don't you think we need, say, an outside opinion?"

Understanding drenched him like acidic rain. The kindness, the hospitality, the respect and pretty words and care—they were lies. He could see the cunning scripted into her wrinkles and crashing amidst the royal blues of her eyes. She was wary of his cleverness—he knew that for a long, long time. It was why she wasn't so surprised when he brought up the topic in the first place. It was why she was confronting him about it now.

Still, as smart as he was, she also knew that he would never lift a finger in retaliation.

Faraz never took his gaze away from her face as she swiped the half-cut fruit from his hand, biting into the crispness of its flesh. "I'd like to use my magic tool to cook food again. Wouldn't you?"

* * *

 _Hinahoho_

For once in his life, Hinahoho felt unbothered by ceilings. As a man of great height that also lived beneath frigid, open skies, ceilings never boded well for him. However, those that were in the academia center were astoundingly high, and he felt remarkably comfortable as little Lakita proudly led them on a humbling tour of the building.

They soon approached one of many doorframes that seemed to align in a circle. Mystras and Sinbad peered through it, and the gasps that escaped their lips spoke for them all. It was truly was awe-inspiring. There were perhaps over three hundred steps leading down and down, curved into a steep semi-circle with a flat platform at the very base of them. In the center of the platform was a stand, which was barely visible given the great distance away. Hinahoho could make out the details of books and snakes and leaves carved into the marble of it. Lakita grinned proudly, "This is the lecture hall. People of all ages from all over the village come here to study. We learn things like philosophy, chemistry, astrology, history, and lots more."

"Yeah, and little Lakita here often sneaks into the advanced arithmetic lectures, isn't that right?" Balbir ruffled the girl's hair. "The older students always mock her, but she stays strong."

"Sometimes Uncle Balbir here lectures here as well," Zahra remarked.

"But he isn't that great of a lecturer," Rohan added.

"Well you're not that great of a student," Balbir scoffed.

"You really suck, you know that?"

"So this place is a school?" Ja'Far asked, his eyes searching around as though he was looking for something.

"No, it's much more than that," Balbir said. He turned away from the doorframe and gestured to the echoey walls of the center's interior. "Academics are the foundation of Kalaraq. It is as important to this country as blood is to our bodies, and courses through every single aspect of everyday life. If it weren't for the research and work that the country's academia centers commit too, Kalaraq would cease to exist."

Zahra laughed. "I think that's a little dramatic, Uncle."

"It's true, though!" Lakita exclaimed, her gaze hurriedly leaping between Hinahoho and his friends. "Even though there aren't that many students in Etor, there are lots across the country–including me! And I'm only nine!"

Hinahoho could believe that. There was a certain manner in which these people spoke sometimes. It was in a formal tone, and was structured with poise and precision and sought to persuade rather than discuss. It seemed practiced and perfected, and definitely worked wonders. He noticed that specifically when Ja'Far got into a brief altercation with Faraz by the fountain, and he noticed quick glimmers of it in Pari's home.

"If it weren't for academics, we wouldn't have _kalahm_ passes or anything and–"

"Wait, what's a _kalahm_ pass?" Mystras interjected.

Balbir was aghast. "What!" he exclaimed, suddenly glaring at the siblings. "You two haven't even told them about the _kalahms_ yet? What kind of fucking hosts are you guys? Your father would be horrified." Suddenly, Hinahoho got the idea that informal language was just as prevalent as the formal one.

"We just… I don't know…" Rohan stammered, "we didn't think to mention it." Hinahoho turned to Sinbad, who eyed the Kalaraqi strangely. He could practically see the cogs spinning in his head. They exchanged a glance, one that they've shared many times before. _Something's up_ , it said.

Balbir guided them throughout the building, through halls and auditoriums, past laboratories and libraries, showcasing books filled with lengthy mathematical proofs and written records of Artemyran philosophy and even astrological discoveries. It was all rather confusing to Hinahoho, but it amazed him regardless. "So, what _is_ a _kalahm_ pass, exactly?" he asked as they made their way back towards the entrance.

"It's a pass to enter or leave Kalaraq," Lakita said. "Everyone who has been outside of Kalaraq's land has one. Don't you have one, anyways?"

"No?" Ja'Far said, somewhat annoyed. "Why else would we be asking–"

"Okay, kids. Enough bickering," Balbir interrupted, cutting the feud at the bud. Ja'Far almost burst at the sound of 'kid' again, but Mystras placed a hand on his shoulder to settle his rage.

Hinahoho hadn't even realized that they came upon an enormous steel door. It's hinges were old and the black paint chipped away, but it stood strong and sturdy and cold. It towered over him–a strange feeling, he noticed. He watched as Balbir pulled out a small gold disk. It was cut in the shape of a sun, he noticed, but there was a black stone in the middle of it. It didn't sparkle, though. Balbir walked up to the door, and placed the disk in a sun-shaped hole that Hinahoho swore wasn't there before. "Foreigners! Tourists! Whatever you guys call yourselves, lo and behold–the main event!" Balbir announced.

The stone in the disk suddenly whirred to life, glowing red and hot. The door shook, groaning with a sound akin to that of a giant yawning. It parted in the middle, and split open away from them.

"Here's what Kalaraq's _really_ all about!" Lakita cried.

Hinahoho thought his jaw would fall through the ground.

"Magic tools!" Balbir exclaimed.

* * *

 _Malik_

"Rise, Lord Malik of Kalaraq."

With a groan, Malik stood from his seat in the grand hall in Balbadd's palace. He gazed warily at the crowd around him. What others claimed as nobles he perceived as snobby, gluttonous men puffed with pride and indulgent meals.

He sighed, glancing at the king's squire who called upon him. He was a youth of perhaps twenty-five or so, not much older than his own son. "The King of Balbadd seeks your advice on the topic at hand," the squire said as though he were the king himself. Although they appeared alike, Malik realized that the squire and his son were as different as different could possible be.

Malik turned to the King, placing the palms of his hands together and bowing slightly. "Hirei qamar taraa," he said, "It is a great honor to speak in your presence, King Rashid."

King Rashid grinned. "I believe it is your presence that is of great honor, Lord Malik. I seek your counseling with desperate hands. Please, speak for yourself and your country."

The last few words settled unsteadily in Malik's stomach. Regardless, he did as the King commanded. "Well, there are a few things that ought to be clarified, your Majesty. In Kalaraq, we are taught to first state the things that we know, and then work our way towards a solution from there," he said, turning to the rest of the nobles who watched him with bored eyes. "Firstly, this particular outbreak has happened before. Only a few months ago, Balbadd had suffered through the same disease with the same symptoms and the same causes of death. However, we also know that more people have been diagnosed with the disease this time, and more people have died from it as well. Additionally, we've recently discovered that children are more prone to the disease than adults. Symptoms of this disease, or what many are calling 'The Red Fever', include nausea, high fever, dizziness, irritability, shivering and muscle soreness. More work is needed to discover the true cause of this disease, however, a few or our researchers have their suspicions," he finished.

Whispers broke out amongst the crowd, the elderly men grumbling and huffing and seemingly unbothered by the entire situation. Rashid, however, had concern etched into the lines of his face.

"And what is it that they suspect?" he asked, gripping his golden sceptre until his knuckles ran white.

Malik stiffened. "Water," he said. "The water the people are drinking may be contaminated."

As he predicted, the room was suddenly filled with an explosion of laughter.

"Blasphemy!"

"The water in Balbadd is prized for being the purest in the world!"

The King's squire laughed, too

One of the noblemen stood from his seat, addressing the King as he did, "Your Grace, this just goes to show that the Kalaraqi truly are not as intelligent as they claim. This fool clearly has no idea what he's talking about!"

"Perhaps they also believe that the sky isn't blue!"

An even greater rouse of laughter broke out.

Why does this always happen? Malik thought.

"Silence!" Rashid exclaimed, standing from his seat abruptly. He coughed into the sleeve of his arm, his jewellery ringing with the motion. He regained his composure and stood with his chin raised, saying, "As Lord Malik said, these are only suspicions. There is no need to criticize mere suspicions when we have little grounds as to what else could be causing this horrible disease. In the meantime," he turned to Malik, "as King of Balbadd, I ought to take advice from all ends, no matter how outrageous they may appear initially." A smile crossed the King's lips for a brief moment. "Thank you all for your counsel. You are dismissed."

Malik watched as the men began filing out of the hall, several bumping into him with smirks and snide comments. Eventually, he made his way rather solemnly towards the exit as well, but he was soon stopped in his tracks.

"Lord Malik," the man turned at the sound of his name. "I'd like to speak with you, if you may," Rashid said.

"Of course, your Grace," he said. Malik watched as the King approached him. He analyzed his steps, his jaw, the way they both were tight and stiff but inexplicably strong.

"Walk with me," he said, and so they walked–through marble halls, past granite statues, between gold-gilded pillars and under ivory arches entwined with vines and jasmine flowers.

It was only in the palace gardens did Malik asked what it was Rashid wanted to speak with him about.

"How is Kalaraq?" The King asked finally. His shoes clicked quietly on the cobblestone paths as they strolled under trees sparkling with sunlight, the asymmetric shadows of leaves shifting across their bodies. "It seems that I've never had the proper chance to visit your country," he chuckled. "Please, tell me what it's like."

"Well," Malik began, not really knowing where to start. "It's not a large country, your Grace. It's only an island."

"Ah, but we both know that it's much more than that."

A glint twinkled in Rashid's eye, and Malik welcomed it. "You're right, my King–"

"Please, call me Rashid," the King smiled.

"Kalaraq does, indeed, have many unique qualities… Rashid."

"Including the use of magic tools, correct?"

Malik hesitated, but responded, "Yes. We are eternally grateful to Magnostadt for allowing us to use their great creations."

"Oh, don't fool yourself. You know very well that this tradeoff isn't working out as perfectly as planned. Well, it did for some time, but it is beginning to fall apart, no?"

Solomon, that's harsh. "Our initial agreement was that we were to test and perfect their magic tools," Malik said patiently.

"And in return," Rashid continued, "Kalaraq would be one of the few countries that could import and use such tools for itself as well. A match made in heaven, no? With the great skill of the scientists and philosophers your country is renowned for, you would be doing a great service to both Magnostadt, its clients, and yourselves. That's several birds with a single stone," he said, coming to a halt.

"That treaty," Malik said, stopping as well, "forged by King Gamal had helped Kalaraq blossom over the many years of his rule."

"But there's a different king in power now."

Rashid's words shouldn't have affected him as much as they did. "King Aarzan."

The King harrumphed. "I hear that the people are not taking too kindly to him these days," Rashid must have seen Malik's discomfort, for he continued, "Please, Malik, you are free to speak as you wish. You will not be accused of treason under my watch."

"I do not fear treason, your Grace," Malik said firmly, "I fear for the future of my country."

"Do you blame King Aarzan for that?"

"No."

"Oh?"

"King Aarzan is," Malik thought for a moment, "a great King. He is a man of great wisdom, and is one of the most recognized philosophers in the land. If it weren't for him, magic tools would have ceased in their existence. He made such great improvements to the magic tools that Magnostadt began sending us more magic tools than ever before. But…"

"But?"

"Perhaps King Aarzan's brilliance is our country's untimely demise," he said with tones of despair, "We've been using too many magic tools."

Rashid frowned. "I see," he said, "It's true that Kalaraq's magic tools are powered by the magoi of the land itself, no?"

"That's correct," Malik said, "the previous king worked with the researchers of the land to construct a method of extracting magoi from the natural phenomena - Kalaraq's true wealth. But it was King Aarzan who developed an extraction method that would harvest seven times more magoi than the old, or Gamalian, method."

"Ah, so he is a great king after all."

Malik nodded, his eyebrows scrunched together as though he was trying to figure something out. "Yes… Yes he is."

"However," Rashid said, "you said that you've been using too many magic tools."

"Yes, and too often," Malik continued, "The people of Kalaraq had become so dependent on the use of magic tools that King Aarzan had to find a new, more powerful source of magoi on the island that would fuel the country for the next many years."

"And so he built a waterfall?"

"And so he built a waterfall."

"Incredible."

"He truly is."

A hearty laugh escaped Rashid's lips. He doubled over in laughter, bracing his gut with his free hand and leaning heavily on his sceptre that Malik worried was too dainty to handle the pressure. "Goodness," Rashid coughed out a wheeze, his ailment taking its toll, "You are something else, Lord Malik."

"Just Malik is fine," Malik said, watching with a twince of concern as Rashid straightened his posture. They were not too far apart in age, and Malik suddenly grew worried about the pain in his own chest. He repressed the urge to press his hand to his heart instinctively.

"Well, Malik," Rashid said, "I am not so hard to fool. I have ears everywhere, otherwise what kind of king would I be? I have heard tales of your wisdom and sharpened intellect from afar," he paused, "You are the one who designed the Ael-Hisad, not King Aarzan."

Malik felt his stomach plummet. "My King–I mean, Rashid–perhaps not so loud–"

"–Oh, don't be embarrassed!" It is a wonderful creation! An ingenious one at that. A harvesting system designed to extract the magoi of a man-made waterfall," Rashid placed a hand on Malik's shoulder, "Absolutely brilliant."

The noble shifted in his stance. "I was fulfilling my duty in service of Kalaraq. It was the King's advice to develop a new system in the first place."

"Still, it was you," Rashid concluded, "I know that most people do not know this, so I will keep this secret within my heart. Still, why is it that you do not want credit for your creation?"

Malik sighed, saying, "The answer lies in the consequences of a country's greed, Rashid."

"And what are the consequences of a country's greed, Malik?" The King asked.

"Death," Malik replied.

* * *

 _Zahra_

Night air is strangely addictive. It's cold and fresh and crisp, as though every inhale is a breath full of the tiniest snowflakes dusted with memories of the day's heat. Etor, like all villages, came to life in the nighttime, where dull gold flames take flight and the sound of men's laughter and young women's giggles make the air swell with warmth. Zahra, however, always found herself treading away from the dust and concrete of her village, her feet taking her to the edges ever since she was a little girl.

She found herself there again that night, her eyes locked half-lidded into the depths of the jungle..

"What do you think of the foreigners?" Faraz asked her from a few feet away, his clothes glowing with the fires of nearby braziers.

There were many things Zahra wanted to say. They were strange, first of all. They didn't speak like they did. Of course, they spoke the common tongue, but the mannerisms of their speech was different. It was foreign, but lovely in its own right. She could say that about the strangers themselves, too.

Zahra couldn't tear her eyes away from the jungle, so she prayed that her words could reach him as she spoke with her back turned to him. _There are more important things to worry about._ "What happens when they find out?"

"About what?"

"About the beast," she said, her fingers clutching opposite arms in a fruitless attempt to keep warm.

"How do you know they'll find out?" Faraz asked, approaching her side. She could feel his gaze on her skin. It felt like soft blades of grass tickling her cheeks and shoulders, but she couldn't face it.

"Because I know mother is using them," she laughed a little. "I know that you know that too, Faraz. You're too clever to not find out about her schemes."

Then, out of nowhere, she found a way to bend her chains.

She turned to him, admiring the curls of his hair rustling in the breeze and the jaunt lines of his cheekbones and the strength in his shoulders and the dew of his eyes "You know me well" and the nectar of his voice. His hands found hers, and his fingers smoothed over her knuckles and nails, "Perhaps too well."

She giggled, feeling as though she was fourteen again. "You mean, I _did_ know you too well," she said, a familiar sensation soaring in her heart as their eyes met gently, kindly, like water drops merging into one.

"I think you still know me too well," Faraz tugged her towards him, the bells at her ankles ringing with the movement. He smiled at her the way he always smiled at her, as though it hoped to cloak her in an invisible bed of flowers and ivy and bark. She could still see the festival lights. She remembered the way her body danced effortlessly and foolishly and occasionally bumped into his in the midst of hundreds of other people cheering and screaming and singing the night away. She remembered the soft of her mustard silk dress and the scent of lavender and myrrh and rosemary. She remembered the way the curls of his hair were a bit longer then, and she remembered laughing madly at the peculiar way they bounced as they danced together.

The truth is, she could have remembered much, much more, but she didn't dare to do so.

A cold wind sent shivers tumbling down her spine, and as much as she wanted to cling eternally to the man before her, she forced her limbs into stiffness. "We should leave it at that," she said, her fingers slipping away from his.

Faraz held her gaze. "You still didn't tell me what you thought of the foreigners," he said slowly.

"I think they're strange," she said, taken back by his persistence.

"Is that… all?"

"I mean, there are other things that I think about them, but I mostly think they're just strange; foreign, if you will."

"And what about the one last night?"

"What?"

"Sinbad."

Zahra's toes curled in the dirt. The night in the hut was an interesting one–she had to admit to that. He had intrigued her as much as she believed she intrigued him. And the stories, _Solomon_ , the stories, they were as addicting as wine and she truly thought she was just as drunk as he was at some point.

"What about Sinbad?"

Faraz shrugged, glancing about lazily. "It's just that he doesn't seem to be any ordinary young man."

"None of them are ordinary young men," she defended. "I don't see anything particularly different about him."

"You're a good liar."

"I'm aware."

"But _I_ can tell when you're lying," _Was he always this tall?_ She thought to herself, _He's so damn tall_ , "and _I_ know that you're lying now."

The knot in her chest tightened hard into a single ball, unwavering and unbreakable. "Don't look at me that way," she pleaded, noticing the slight but powerful shift in his disposition.

"Z."

"I really don't like that look," she said. It was the look that pried into her heart, full of reproach and almost lofty in nature, as though it was searching for something and yet scolding her simultaneously. "There's no need for it, either," she said, glancing at the jungle once more before turning to walk back home, a bitter mix of emotions battling ferociously in her chest.

She pretended she hadn't heard Faraz's words as she left him standing there, but she did: "Not yet," he said.

* * *

 **MY BABES! MY LOVELY, LOVELY READERS! THANK YOU FOR BEARING WITH ME ONCE AGAIN!**

 **I'm so sorry guys - college is actually fucking me over like wow, and I should've gotten this chapter out earlier but I had such a huge ass writer's block that I just couldn't write anything that I actually liked. Hence, the many POV changes in this chapter.**

 **ABOUT POVS - so idk I'm trying to do the Game of Thrones POV thing (you know different perspectives because I need that variety in there and I think it's just so useful for world-building and character-developing and stuff-stuff, so yeah). What do you guys think? I'm starting to put the character's names in at the top just to make the POV clear, so I hope that helps (even though it's a bit cliche, but you know what George R.R. Martin Does it so imma do it fuCK IT)**

 **Alrighty so another huge, huge thank you to my readers - you guys are my lifeblood, y'all keep me going. I really hope that what I'm writing is working out as expected, but we'll see how this goes. I'm trying to shed some light on how Kalaraq works, so hope that's going okay - y'all will see things for real (instead of people talking about them) as the chapters go by - I PRAMISE, be patient. All good things to those who wait ! I hope so, at least.**

 **OKAY SO I don't have a picture of my art on my computer rn nor do I have access to my art rn so I can't upload it to deviantart right as I post this but I WILL post smt by tonight so yeah check out my deviantart tonight:**

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 **REVIEW RESPONSES!**

 _Anna_ : WELCOME BACK BABE! And thank you so much for the kind review! And yes I love responding to troll comments even though they're trolls - thanks for your support through my writing journey, I really appreciate it!

 _Guestyyy_ : AWHHHH thank you so so much! I'm honestly not toooo worried about popularity/success with this story. Honestly, people have different tastes for different types of stories, so whoever enjoys this enjoys it! And I know it's not for everyone, but that doesn't mean that I enjoy it when people read and appreciate my work (cuz I'm human and I'm selfish ahh).

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 **Guys thank you so much for your lovely reviews, favorites, and follows - bless your beautiful hearts and souls I love you guys ahhhhh imma cry :')**

 **WELL that's about it for now! I know this chapter isn't supppper duper long but its a good 1k words more I think (which is a lot for me lol). I hope you guys enjoy how the story's going so far. I know it's a bit slow-paced but this is my EPIC you know? It's gonna start slow, and I know y'all wanna see more Zahra/Sinbad stuff and BELIEVE ME I wanna write that shit soossososo bad but there's SO MUCH MORE to this story than their relationship (if there even is one ohohoho). But yeah.**

 **I also feel like I'm a little out of touch with Magi and the Adventures of Sinbad right now because I've been binging Game of Thrones and Shameless and so much other shit that I'm losing my sense of the characters, but I'm working to review the animes and the mangas and get back into this story as much as possible. It's like I'm living a double life - it's kinda hard LMFAO.**

 **OKAYOKAY I'm done. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Please review, fave, follow, whatever - I appreciate it all!**

 **THANK YOUUUU !**

~Ava


	10. Pompous

**AHHHHHH ANOTHER CHAPTER? HELLLL YES Y'ALL. I'M BACK AT IT!**

* * *

 **EXTRAORDINARY**

10

 _Pompous_

 _OMNISCIENT_

The young man didn't sign up for this. When he decided to join the Raqh Guard, he believed he was doing his duty as a protector of Kalaraq's citizens. This would involved arresting thieves, bandits, rapists, and killers. This would involve identifying unrest within the country whilst respecting the people of the land. He did not, however, expect that he would be sent in with other members of the Raqh Guard into the depths of the notoriously deadly jungles.

He cursed his superiors, who sent him down as punishment for abandoning his post the other day. Nobody deserved to face this beast—not even the scum of the country.

"Man, this sucks," one of the other guards said to him as they grunted and grumbled, forcing their way through the thickest part of the jungle. "There's so many—" he groaned "—trees!" he said as he pushed aside stubborn branches and kicked fruitlessly at stiff roots.

"It's a jungle, Caz," the young man said grimly, glancing at his friend whose hollowed cheeks tightened and loosened with every step. "There's nothing much we can do about this."

Caz harrumphed. "I guess. I get that the people want this _thing_ out of their lives, but isn't there a safer way to do this? I mean, almost all the guards before us were killed. Don't they care about us?"

"They care about their families, just like we do. We are the Raqh Guard. Our first duty is to protect—"

"Shut up," Caz interrupted him. "Adil… do you hear that?"

"What? I don't hear anything," Adil paused. "Caz?"

"Sh," he hushed him, pointing a finger to his mouth. "I'm gonna go investigate."

"Wait, Caz, I don't think that's such a good idea!" but before Adil could stop him, Caz was out of sight.

For a few moments, it was quiet. Adil almost felt at peace there in the jungle, surrounded by poisonous plants, thorns, hideous trees oozing with sap and swarmed with insects. It was musty, thick, and the closeness of everything made him almost claustrophobic, yet still, he was at peace.

And suddenly, a scream thundered in the air. Adil whipped around, calling out for his friend. "Caz? Caz! Caz, this isn't funny! I'm done with your jokes! Just come out!" he bellowed, but nobody responded. "We can head back, now! I'm sure the other guards are waiting for us outside the jungle borders! Caz!"

Instead of Caz calling back, Adil heard a low grumbling. It was quiet and subtle, but as eerie and ominous as the rumble of a volcano.

When he turned, he saw the glowing pink eyes, the eyes that everyone talked about, the eyes that would supposedly make you paralyzed so that the beast could attack you.

But Adil noticed he wasn't paralyzed. If he was, he wouldn't have started running for his life

 _Ja'Far_

"Geez, what a letdown," Mystras mumbled through a few coughs.

It really was a letdown.

What Ja'Far expected to see was a great hall filled with all kinds of equipment, golden tools gleaming with the promise of productivity, flying around and buzzing away while _magoi_ ran through their veins.

Instead, he saw an unexpectedly small and dark room, lit with only a single, weeping candle from a broken chandelier. Rather than glowing objects alive with energy, Ja'Far's eyes wandered over large piles of gray and blackened metal. Sprockets and strips of the scrapped tools poked in and out of the piles, jumbled together in such disarray that Ja'Far found it incredibly difficult to picture them as being once useful at all. Dust flew around him in clouds, swarming his lungs and cloaking the room and masses of the dead magic tools in a layer of neglect. Ja'Far had never actually seen magic tools before, but he assumed there would be at least some sign of power in their design. He assumed they would be noisy and clamorous, but the room rang with absolute silence; not a single whirr of life could reach his ears.

"What is this?" Hinahoho asked as he covered his nose with his brawny forearm to shield himself from the sooty air.

"It's history," Balbir squashed a rampaging bug with his foot. "These are all the magic tools that we can no longer use."

Lakita squeezed her nose, resulting in a high, nasal tone, "Which is all of them," she kicked one of the tools nearby her foot and it crumbled like glass upon impact. "It's all junk, now."

"Hey, look!" Rohan exclaimed, grabbing a mass of gray from one of the piles, "I haven't seen one of these in forever!"

Ja'Far paced over to him, standing on his toes to sneak a glance. "What is it?" he asked as Rohan handed it over to him. His chest burned with curiosity as he turned the artifact over in his palms. It was a simple sphere, black by what appeared to be burns, matted with wear, and maimed with dents. To the boy, it looked nothing more than a distressed shotput ball, similar to the ones that he had once used for training as an assassin.

"Can't you tell?" Zahra sounded amused. Ja'Far watched, puzzled, as she pointed to different parts of the thing. "It's a candle."

"Huh?"

"Our magic tools used to have these things called _pida lakah_ , which are basically specific areas on the tool that you have to touch in order for them to work. Like here," Zahra gestured to an elevated circle on the sphere.

Ja'Far seemed to understand the cue, and he obediently pressed his thumb to the button. _Pressure points?_ He jumped in surprise when the sphere sprang open, unfolding along lines that Ja'Far swore weren't there before. The metal melted away in Ja'Far's hands into the formation of a lotus flower. As Zahra predicted, there was a small space in the middle where old wax was obstinately glued to. Ja'Far brought the object to eye level. It was rather beautiful, actually. "Why can't you use them anymore?" he asked.

"Well, magic tools run on _magoi_ ," Balbir explained as he tossed an unrecognizable block of metal from one hand to the other. "But our magic tools were specifically designed so that they ran on the _magoi_ of the island itself. The energy of life, if you will. Some time ago, people started running into problems with their magic tools. They'd shut down randomly. It would be the little things first, like watering wells and _magoi_ -powered doorknobs."

"I remember my mama tried to make tea for me when I was sick once, but the magic tool pot that we used never boiled the water. It just didn't work anymore," Lakita offered.

Zahra flicked the lotus candle in Ja'Far's hand. "Then it got worse. The banks in the country used _magoi_ -encrypted vault systems and farms relied on magic tools for their irrigation methods, so when the power starting going out, the banks were being robbed, crops died, everything just started falling apart."

"They called it Ak-aro, or Great Blackout, in the common tongue," Rohan said, "But it was beyond my time."

Lakita turned to Ja'Far suddenly, grabbing his hands in a frenzied motion. She beamed, placing a smooth object in his hand. "This is a _tawie_ light," her eyes dimmed a little. "Or, what's left of one."

The thing was cold—icy, even. Shivers ran across Ja'Far's shoulders as he opened his hands to look at the dark, cracked stone the little girl had handed him. There were lines and dots engraved all over its surface, weaving in and around each other before meeting in a single lopsided semi-circle. He could almost feel the echoes of energy flowing through it.

Hinahoho and Mystras peered over his shoulder, fighting for a glance. "So that thing lights up? Just like that?" Mystras asked.

"No fire? No sparks?" Hinahoho continued.

"Nope. Just pure _magoi_ ," Lakita confirmed.

Ja'Far's eyes found Sinbad's, who looked around the room with that all-too-familiar glint in his eye. He didn't want to believe it, but Ja'Far knew that it had gotten much more prominent since his frequent meetings with Barbarossa. It was hard to look at, too—that cunning that was so potent that felt like watching him pierce the people around him with poisoned needles.

"This is what Kalaraq's really about?" Sinbad asked as he kept looking around. His fists were clenched, Ja'Far noticed.

"This is what Kalaraq _was_ about," Zahra corrected.

"That's kind of sad."

The words escaped Ja'Far's lips unintentionally. Zahra delivered a small smile his way, but he couldn't tell whether it was from gratitude or sorrow or neither. Regardless, he was caught off guard. He looked away.

"Let's go. This is depressing, right, kids?" Ja'Far cringed at Balbir's last words. The man began leading the group out of the room again, Lakita quick on his heels like an eager pup.

Sinbad turned to Zahra while the others filed out. "I guess Kalaraq is as ordinary as any other country now. I'm sorry," but Ja'Far could find no remorse in his eyes.

With a airy chuckle, the girl turned to Ja'Far. Her eyes darted from his to the candle, his to the candle, his to the candle, over and over. Ja'Far understood, and held it out to her. To his bewilderment, Zahra took the candle, a piece of history, and tossed it over her shoulder. Ja'Far watched incredulously as the tool smashed to pieces and lifeless petals, burnt bits and drops of wax scattered across the floor instantly. Then, he saw Sinbad's expression falter when Zahra looked his way. What did she say? Did she say anything at all? He cursed his height with urgent contempt. Why did he have a strange feeling in his stomach? It was different than all the times before; it was different than the one that slipped through his veins at the name 'Kalaraq'.

No, this time he tensed at the tinkle of Zahra's bells as she walked away.

Ja'Far noticed Sinbad's gaze follow her, and suddenly, Ja'Far remembered Serendine, Queen Mira, Serendine again, and the fruity-haired woman at the tavern.

Yet, the foreign, peculiar feeling in his stomach left him indisputably frustrated and confused.

 _Mystras_

"You can spend the night in Zahra's room!"

Mystras almost spit out his drink. "WHAT?!" he turned surprisedly to Rohan and Zahra who had cried out with him in unison. Throughout his entire life, he was urged to avoid any contact with women in general, let alone sleep in the same bedroom as one. He decided that it was an outrageous notion, one that he would probably have wished for in some other time, but with Pipirika at his side, he found himself wholly disinterested in other women.

"Lakita, dear, I think we can find Mystras a more suitable room," Balbir said assuredly, before whispering to the girl to finish her greens lest her mother's anger reached Pari's house.

"If you say so," Lakita chomped on the last bit of her pit-roasted vegetables. She glanced Mystras' way at some point, and he swore there was an apology spread across her childish features. Sometimes he would look at her and remember his own brother, Spartos, who was probably around the same age as her. He'd bury those thoughts of his home and family quite quickly. He didn't really know why, though.

A chair screeching against the stone floor snapped Mystras out of his daydreaming. "I'll start cleaning up," Faraz said as he began clearing away the plates from the table.

Lakita jumped out of her chair, "I'll help you, Faraz!" her smile eager as ever.

The boy snickered, picking her up and placing her back in the chair. "You stay here, Laki. You can't even reach the countertop, yet." A solemn, defeated expression overcame her adorable face, but she agreed ruefully as he ruffled her mess of periwinkle hair.

"I got you, Faraz," Hinahoho announced before joining the young man. Lakita gasped in wonder as Hinahoho balanced four, five, six plates on his trunk-like arm and offered it to an equally surprised Faraz. "So, what is it you were saying about your husband, Pari?"

"Ah, yes," Pari's expression relaxed upon remembering the topic at hand. "It seems that he's fallen ill overseas. I think I will be taking the next ship to see him."

"Overseas? Where is he?"

"Balbadd."

Mystras furrowed his brows. "What's he doing in Balbadd?"

"Oh, did Zahra and Rohan not tell you all?" Pari glared at her children, who looked away, abashed. Mystras was inexplicably overcome with a sense of deja vu. "If you must know, my husband is on a trip regarding 'diplomatic affairs', as he likes to call it."

It appalled Mystras that his first reaction was to glance at Sinbad's. As expected, he was now paying attention. Oddly enough, he realized that his leader had barely even touched his food. Pari had risen to clear the dinner table as well, and when she asked if Sinbad was alright, he responded with a kind smile and a nod. Still, his expression reverted to one that was pensive and neutral. He only began to notice these 'character switches' recently, but they made him uneasy nonetheless.

"He's been away for so long," said Rohan. "How long has it been now? Three months? Four?"

"Five," Zahra corrected as she cradled her cheek in her palm. A far-off look glazed over her brown eyes.

"He is a lord, after all," Lakita's tone was dull. Zahra shot her a glare, causing the child to slap a hand over her lips with realization for her apparent mistake. "Oops."

Ja'Far was surprised. "Your father is a lord?!" His amazement wasn't unfair, Mystras mused. Zahra and Rohan's home was humble, marked only with the luxuries of an impluvium, a few _jolis_ , and an indoor garden. Other than that, the house was grounded in stone and wood, not marble and gold. Mystras recalled even his room was rather modest as well, save for the rosewood dresser and bed frame. Nevertheless, he would never expect a lord or nobleman to live in such a place.

"Y-Yeah," Zahra said, sighing wearily. "Nobles are appointed on basis of 'intellectual strength and individual tenacity'" she used air quotes, "not wealth or social status."

"Big surprise," Ja'Far mumbled.

"When will he be returning?" Sinbad asked.

"Soon, hopefully," Pari said, her maroon curls swishing as she glanced at them. "Small wonder he's sick. He's always working much too hard."

Mystras turned to face Sinbad, who was seated on the left corner of his vision. He could say the same for him, he realized. Despite his efforts to keep merry since the moment they'd gotten to the island, his weariness was still evident. In fact, Mystras could only recount Sinbad being himself when he was drunk in the Capital, ironically enough. But something had shifted in him. The young knight couldn't quite put his finger on what it was exactly, or what caused the shift to begin with. Even so, he knew there was something different in him, and he knew that both Ja'Far and Hinahoho were aware of it, too. But he just couldn't bring himself to confront him about it. His heart pinched. _Typical._

Balbir suddenly slammed his hand flat on the table. "Okay, who wants to hear a ghost story?"

"Oh! Me! Me! Me!" Lakita cheered, raising her hands high above her head jovially. "Tell us a ghost story, Uncle Balbir!"

"Let's hear it!" Hinahoho said as he sauntered back to the group, gathering more plates for Faraz to clean up.

Mystras cursed them. He was always eager to listen to tales of the outside world, good and evil, beautiful and ugly, but he could never get used to ghost stories. For reasons unbeknownst to him, Spartos was always avidly interested in the eerie tales of demons, spirits, and the resurrected dead. Even his father insisted that it was as important to know God's enemies as it was to know God since God's enemies were man's enemies, or something along those lines. But to Mystras, these stories were only good for one thing, and that was keeping him sharply awake at night. Needless to say, he wasn't thrilled to hear another ghost story.

The elder man stood from the table abruptly as he clapped a fist to his chest and cleared his throat. "This is an ancient tale, one that has been passed down from generation to generation, from family to family, from father to son, from mother to daughter, for years and years and—"

"—Ugh, get _on_ with it," Rohan whined.

"Hey!" Balbir scolded him, "I'm the storyteller here, so shut your mouth and listen well," he hemmed and continued his ballad in a distinctively lowered, baritone voice. "This is the tale of the horrible, murderous, all-powerful, all-terrifying," he grabbed Mystras' shoulders, sending waves of panic flashing across his skin, "... _Mountain Monster_ ," he growled by Mystras' ear. _God, help me._

"Oh boy," Rohan rolled his eyes.

"Here we go again," Zahra muttered.

"Shh!" Lakita pressed her forefinger to her lips emphatically. "I'm trying to listen!"

"You've already heard this story, Lakita," Rohan threw his head back in grief. "We all have! A dozen times! It's such a lame one, too."

"Uh, excuse me? Lame?" Balbir slapped an open palm to his heart in theatrical agony. "My boy, how can a _true_ tale be 'lame'? Now, where was I? Ah, yes!" he reverted back to his baritone voice and began pacing ominously around the table. " _The Mountain Monster_. There was once a group of men who decided to venture out to the northern mountains—the desolate, god-forsaken place that nobody in Kalaraq dared to step foot in. It's cold up there—so incredibly cold that the men's fingers and toes fell from their bodies like the dead leaves of a tree. Still, they pushed on, because they had a single goal: to seek the hidden treasure. Legend says that there are riches so beautiful and so rare that they are beyond the human imagination, and they are buried away in the depths of the great mountain, Ozdon."

"You name your mountains?" Ja'Far asked, unamused.

Balbir paused in his steps. "Y-Yes. But that's besides the point," the storyteller waved his man dismissively. "Anyways, these men were persistent and brave, so they pushed onwards on their death-defying journey. But one night," he paused, "when they were camping on the cliff in a pitched tent to protect themselves from a blizzard, one of the men awoke to a shadow created by something outside of the tent."

"Oh no, the Mountain Monster," Rohan said in a sing-song voice. "I wonder what—ow!" he cried, suddenly gripping his head from Balbir's smack.

"As I was saying," he continued, "the shadow was huge, the man noticed. It was much too big to be a person, but it didn't take the form of an animal, either… but when he looked carefully, he couldn't tell what it was anymore. He turned to warn his friends, his fellow adventurers, but," Balbir placed his hands on Zahra's shoulders, "they were gone."

Lakita gasped, and Rohan groaned loudly. The unsettling feeling in Mystras' stomach turned and turned, and he wondered if his fear was evident on his face. He bit his lip to keep his emotions under control.

"Keep going, Balbir," Faraz said as he took a seat to listen. "You're just getting to the good part."

"Right!" Balbir exclaimed. "When the man noticed that his friends were missing, he became numb with fear. He didn't know whether to flee or hide underneath his furskins. But, the man was too scared to see the monstrosity that lingered outside his tent, and so he quailed as he hid himself as best as he could. He was shivering now, but not from the cold of the blizzard air.

"Then the thing outside let out a great cry. They say it sounded like Ozdon itself was tearing apart, and the entire island shook when it screamed. The man let out a blood-curdling cry as the creature shredded his tent with its claws—claws that were as long and as sharp as fine Balbaddi swords. It was not a human, nor an animal, but an entire beast on its own. Strangely, it had no fur, and was as black as the night sky. It was enormous, probably twice my own height, and as muscular as a great baboon. It had long, dagger-like teeth, stained red from blood. However, the most frightening part of the creature was that its eyes were incredibly beautiful. They were dark and sparkling like black goldstone and as captivating as those of a most beautiful woman. The man was entranced by them, and for the smallest fraction of a moment, he fell in love with the creature's eyes."

"Gross," Zahra muttered.

"They were otherworldly and magical, so he couldn't help it. But his infatuation ended quickly as the monster proceeded to tear out his throat with a single swipe of its claws. It ravaged the body, eating flesh, organs, and even the bones—leaving nothing behind but bloodied snow.

"When the rest of Kalaraq found out that these men had gone missing, the government decided to set a law that nobody would pass through the northern mountains, especially Ozdon, until they determined that it was safe. To this day, drunkards, fools, and careless adventurers still try to find the hidden treasure, defying the law. However, nobody has returned alive. And so, the hidden Ozdon treasure, as well as The Mountain Monster, continue to live in the treacherous peaks of the Kalaraqi mountains… "

Balbir smiled, taking his seat and returning his voice to normal, "... or so the tale goes."

 _Zahra_

The last few rays of the evening sun were peeking through the _jolis_ of her home as Zahra walked unsteadily into the kitchen while holding a basket prepped for first aid. She threw in everything she could find in the house, including vinecloth, silk strips, turmeric, aloe vera leaves, antiseptic, powdered hot peppers, a stray bottle of _arrack_ , matches, and yards upon yards of bandaging.

Peeking over the bundle in her arms, Zahra looked out to the dinner table, where Faraz was drying out the last few wooden plates. He caught her gaze and nodded approvingly with… a wink?

"Shit!" the action made Zahra's fingers fumble over the woven sugar cane in her hand. With a yelp, her arms moved in a craze to get the basket back in her grips. _Damn, why would he do that?_ Her wrists tightened as she strengthened her grasp on her heap of remedies, and she breathed a sigh of relief. To her horror, Zahra heard a soft chuckle flutter from Faraz's lips. With a harrumph and a pout, she strutted over to her patient.

Mystras was waiting patiently on the ground, his legs crossed over the green-gold rug. He was always slow to anger and kind, soft-spoken at times, but Zahra had come to appreciate his gentle, clumsy character. Smiling, Zahra crouched down and sat across from him, laying the basket of goods beside her. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," she mimicked. "Are you sure you're okay with me redressing your wounds? I'm only Faraz's apprentice, so I'm not as good as he is."

"It's okay," Mystras grinned cheekily. "I trust you."

His smile and words reignited the flame of guilt in her belly. "R-Right," she said, and began unwrapping the bandages around Mystras' auburn hair. "So, how was dinner?"

"It was amazing!" Zahra was pleasantly surprised to see Mystras' eyes light up. "Your mom's curries are _sooo_ much better than the ones I used to eat back home. Actually, I think they're the best curries I've ever had in my life!"

She laughed heartily. His enthusiasm was always welcome. "Yeah, we're famous for our curries," she said as she peeled the last bit of bandaging around a cut on his forehead. The material was stuck to the dried blood, so she tugged on it carefully with her fingertips, urging the skin to let it go. "And other things."

"Like," Mystras began counting these things off on his fingers, "how smart you guys are, how you used to basically run on magic tools, how beautiful the island is, how beautiful the _people_ are—" Zahra couldn't help but giggle at his subsequent freakout. "I-I mean, y-you _all_ are really a-a-a-attractive i-in that, I-I don't k-kn-know damn I shouldn't have said that I have a girlfriend but I guess I kind of mean it? Oh, what am I saying? I'M SORRY PIPIRI—"

"—Shh!" Zahra hushed him between laughs, afraid to wake the others. "It's okay. I get it. We do come from both Parthevian and Balbaddi ancestry, after all," she soaked a cloth with antiseptic and a sprinkle of turmeric, and began wiping down the cut on Mystras' forehead just as Faraz taught her. This seemed to calm him down, too. "I'm sure your girlfriend will be fine with you saying that the Kalaraqi are an attractive people," she hated herself for slipping a glance up at Faraz. _He's not wrong._ Solomon, she wanted to hit herself.

"I wanted to ask, Zahra," Mystras looked up at her. "Is everything alright?"

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"I mean, I guess we've all felt this weird vibe in the air. Like something's wrong. I-Is there anything wrong?"

" _We shouldn't get them involved, Rohan."_

" _You're right."_

" _I'll stay quiet if you stay quiet."_

" _Deal. It_ is _better this way, Z. No more people should get hurt."_

 _After all, it's not their problem._

"No," she said, feigning confusion. "Everything's fine," she lied through her teeth. Analyzing her work, Zahra picked up a small bottle from the basket, popping it open to reveal a gold-pink paste. She scooped some of it into her hand, and gently ran it across the cut, masking the slash expertly. "There, that should speed up the healing process, I think," she plastered a small adhesive bandage to his forehead, much less cumbersome than the several feet of wrapping that concealed the shine of his hair that she so often admired. It reminded her of the tree trunks in the jungle, rusty and warm.

To her dismay, Mystras pressed on. "Are you sure? I mean, we've dealt with problems in other countries before. If there's anything we can do—"

"—No!" Zahra exclaimed, and when she saw the boy flinch, she forced herself to relax. "I'm sorry. It's just… I appreciate the thought, really, I do. But there's nothing to worry about," she urged him. Despite her efforts, he looked rather unconvinced. " _You_ ," she poked his chest playfully, "should focus on figuring out how to get back home. I'm sure your friends and family miss you."

For a moment, Mystras seemed to be staring right through her. "Yeah, I guess."

There was that pang of guilt again. As much as she enjoyed their company, she had to realize that these men were in crisis. Somehow, she kept forgetting that they were still in a whole new world, one that they still knew very, very little about.

Very little, indeed.

"Okay, you're good to go," she gave him a gentle pat on the cheek. "If there's anything you need, let me know," she said with all the kindness she could muster.

The knight's fingers reached the fresh bandage on his head, and he smiled approvingly. "Thanks, Zahra, for everything," he yawned, rubbing his eyes. "Goodnight," he bid her farewell as he stood up from the ground to retreat to his room.

"Nice job," Zahra whirled around at the sound of Sinbad's voice. He was leaning on a pillar, and when Zahra tilted her head in confusion, he gestured to his own head. "The bandaging, I mean. You've got a knack for it."

"Really?" she grinned sheepishly at the compliment. It wasn't something she hadn't heard before, though, so she didn't really know why it contented her. "Well, you're next," she said, patting the space on the rug that Mystras sat on.

Wordlessly, he sat down, crossing his legs as quietly as a shifting bird. She swiftly realized that she never actually saw a man undress before her. As Sinbad shimmied off his blazer, sliding the straps off his arms and over his fingertips, Zahra's eyebrow quivered and she averted her batting eyes. The basket quickly became her distraction, where she hopelessly rummaged for nothing in particular. But her actions bit back, where a sharp sting pierced through her thumb to the rest of her hand as her fingers moved between bottles and bandages and the bumps of the basket. In the midst of her escape, she had pricked herself on a splinter. Cursing under her breath, she yanked her hand out, flustered to the point that she didn't recognize Faraz standing right behind her.

"All good here?" he asked, to which Zahra jumped a little.

"Y-Yeah, everything's fine," she reassured him, hiding her hand from his line of sight. By the time Zahra glanced back at Sinbad, he had already taken off his vest, dress shirt, and, whatever those gold bands were around his waist, and was thus bare from head to hip. She'd seen Faraz and Rohan shirtless countless times without a problem—but admittedly not entirely true for the former—so Zahra decided it was Sinbad's apparent boredom that was beginning to anger her. _Pompous._

"Alright then," Faraz said, his voice dyed with hues of suspicion and slight disdain. "Let me know if you need any help, Z," he said as he exited the kitchen.

"Okay, thank you!" Zahra called out after him. She turned back to Sinbad, who was sitting lazily with his head in his hands. "Hey, sit up," she said, tapping his back with a flick of her wrist, to which he scowled. "I can't work when you're hunched over like that."

Sinbad sighed but obediently, begrudgingly, straightened his posture. "Better?" sarcasm dripping through his lips.

"Better," she said, reaching for the antiseptic bottle. "You're awfully grumpy for someone who's about to have someone _else_ lick their wounds."

His silence confirmed her accusation.

"Why?"

"I'm just thinking." _Lakita and her damn mouth_ , she grumbled to herself. She had to figure out if he was planning something, anything.

"What're you thinking ab—" Zahra sealed her lips. Antiseptic seeped through the cloth and onto her splintered thumb, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out from the sharp, acid-like burn.

Sinbad looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "You okay?"

"F-Fine!" she squeaked out, but her rheumy eyes confessed what her tongue denied.

"Uh, no, you're clearly not okay," he said as he grabbed her hand, the antiseptic-soaked cloth dropping to the floor. He twisted and turned her wrist this way and that, golden eyes gliding here and there. "Are you hurt?"

"Like I said," she said through clenched jaws, "I'm _fine_ ," she spat as she tried to wrench her arm free, to no avail. "Would you let go of me?"

"Not until I see what's wrong with your hand. You can't help others if you can't help yourself first, you know."

The nerve of this man was starting to get on hers. "You don't need to give _me_ lessons on ethics, foreigner. You tell me your gaudy stories and show me your fancy sword and now we're best friends? Think again—"

"—Found it," Sinbad said flatly, locking her thumb with his own. "A splinter? That's what's got you teary-eyed?" her pride shrivelled like a grape in Kalaraqi sun. "It's not even that deep."

Zahra came to hate tears and their uselessness in that very instant, cursing them for their false sentiment. "Why are you suddenly such an asshole?"

Silence. She _hated_ silence.

Her rage began to bubble over, and she did nothing to stop it.

"So this is who you _really_ are, and the guy I met in the hut last night was a drunk lie. What about Lakita? Why were you so kind to her and yet you-you—wait—hey!" she yelped when he brought her thumb to his lips. "The hell do you think you're doing?!" she cried, desperately keeping her hand from contact.

His jaw tightened with frustration. It was almost relieving to finally see him reveal some sort of emotion. On that note, Zahra was beginning to feel that she was arguing with a little child—better yet— a little girl, wracked with hormonal fluctuations and astoundingly steep mood swings. "Helping you. The easiest way to take out a splinter is to just suck it out." She couldn't believe her ears.

"What?! No it's not! Solomon, you're an idiot _and_ an asshole," her tongue like poison. "Now, let—" she jerked her arm, "—go!"

But he didn't. "Not until you explain to me what you meant by 'your _own_ adventure stories,'" he snarled.

 _Oh. Right._

Zahra didn't really know what she meant by that anymore. She tended to do that—make promises, swear oaths, whisper mysteries without paying much heed into the meanings of her words. Back at the academia center, she must have had some sort of trust in him, otherwise she wouldn't have told him that she had adventure stories of her own, ones that eclipse the boring tales of Kalaraqi research, philosophy, and endless academics. Behaving the way he was now, she wouldn't have told him anything at all. However, the tensing grip on her wrist had no intention of letting her get away with any excuses. "It was nothing." She decided it was worth a shot, anyways.

"Do you always lie like that?" he asked. "Right to someone's face?"

She gulped. "I'm not lying."

"Just like that, huh?" he scorned. "How unbecoming. You're not telling me something. The strange statue of your king, the old magic tools, the lordship of your own father? What is all this? Why do you hide such important things until someone else brings it up?"

"Because it's none of your business," she said. "You are a foreigner here, and just like you said last night, you're working on a way out. You don't need to butt your nose in other people's lives in the meantime!"

"Well, I'm right here in Kalaraq. I'm sitting right before your eyes. Therefore, I _am_ a part of your life, now."

That was indisputable. He put it in concise, almost mathematical terms. It was a familiar way of speaking, one that she heard and used when studying with Uncle Balbir. When did he pick it up? Was he speaking to her this way to prove something? When did this become so game-like?

"Okay then, foreigner," she sneered as she yanked her arm to draw him nearer, "If you want to know so bad, I'll take you to see Kalaraq— _real_ Kalaraq, but only on one condition."

"Name it."

"You don't tell your friends until I say so."

Sinbad gawked at her. "You're kidding, right?"

"Absolutely not."

"Why?"

A good question. Why _was_ she making this offer to him and only him? Why not Mystras—sweet, gentle Mystras? Or Ja'Far, who seemed like he hasn't had fun in years. A more suitable candidate would have been Hinahoho, who seemed the most honorable one of them all. Yet her ever-enigmatic spirit reached for this purple-haired, self-important prick.

Maybe the stories had taken their toll, after all. Maybe she did see something in the naked steel of the metal vessel. Maybe she had placed too much trust in a complete stranger, a habit that her mother had always reprimanded her for. Maybe she recognized some semblance of truth in his drunken state. But when he looked at her now, mere inches away from her face, eyes suddenly crashing with an electricity that proved he surely was no ordinary person, the mere concept of making the offer to anybody else in the entire world seemed inexcusable; deplorable; sinful, even.

She wouldn't tell him that, though.

"Get ready, then."

"What—" Sinbad's voice muffled when she threw his clothes in his face.

"We're going."

"Now?"

"Now, foreigner."

* * *

 **BIG UPDATE: GUYS IF YOU HAVEN'T RE-READ CHAPTER 1 YET PLEASE DO RIGHTTTTTT NOW (check out second half of the page) it is QUITE important, I am so sorry I keep updating that chapter but I think the beginning is so important and I was really in my feelings the other day so I think it's a good addition so PLEASE FOR YOUR OWN SAKE READ CHAPTER 1 (second half) it's super short but SUPER IMPORTANT!**

ALSO I need an editor SO BAD. If anyone would like to edit my works (and I can edit yours in return!) PLEASE let me know, because I so desperately need someone to look over my work - I would truly appreciate it!

 **oh my GOD y'all I busted this shit out over the weekend instead of doing my essays LMFAO but it was fun to write I had fun I HOPE YOU GUYS HAD FUN TOO!** **So yes, Ja'Far's kind of a salty bitch right now and Sinbad is... well, post-Barbarossa/post-rip-village/post-rip-Serendine/just rip in general, so you know, mood swings, sadness, confusion, suspicion as FUCKKKK, and just... just RIP. I think I'm finally starting to pull this shit back together because I watched a bit of the animes and reread some bits as well. I have a VISION and I don't want to like you know let it go so I'm working hella hard getting refs and inspo from the books I read at school, the people around me, etc, etc, ETC!**

 **Sooo yes so much stuff going on!**

 **but canon characters are starting to figure shit out... if you couldn't tell :) And Zahra is... well. You'll see.**

 **ANYWAYS I hope you guys liked this chapter! Again, thank you so so much for the lovely reviews, faves, and follows. I love you guys so so much, and thanks for supporting me on this journey!**

 _Review responses!:_

 _Anna:_ Hello lovely! Thank you so much for the kind review as always - your support is so so appreciated, and I'm glad that you empathize with the stuff that I'm working through with this fic. Yeah, I did a lot of planning - but it's starting to pick up (especially the next chapter ahHH sin/zahra is gonna get real cute). AND YES the moment I saw your comment about the pov changes I went back and changed everything, so NOW EVERYTHING has pov changes! Glad that it worked for you :) and thank you for letting me know so I could improve this fic!

 _guest:_ thanks yo! hope you enjoyed this new chapter!

 _Guest:_ THANK YOU! Hope you enjoiiiiiii!

 **Alright y'all, I gotta get to class, so imma go but I REALLY hope you liked this chapter so far, and if you got the time, please review, fave, follow, anything, and let me know what you think!**

 **ADIOS!**

 **~Ava**


	11. Wonderstruck

**Guess who's back, back again?**

 **and oh my gosh is that a _long_ chapter you see? yes. yes it is.**

* * *

 **EXTRAORDINARY**

11

Wonderstruck

 _Ja'Far_

Ja'Far stumbled into bed, appreciative of the cool, silk bedding that welcomed his aching limbs with slippery ease. His fingers swam through the sheets as he groaned into his pillow. There were a good many things on his mind as he tried to squirm into a comfortable position. It had come to his abrupt understanding that Kalaraqi curry didn't quite sit well with him. Perhaps it was all the spices? Then there was the matter of Zahra and Rohan's father being a noble—where the hell did that come from? Why didn't anyone say anything about it before? And how could he be overseas if nobody knew about Kalaraq? Wait, but what if people around the world _did_ know about Kalaraq, and it was just he that was out of the loop. Out of the loop? Ja'Far? Was that even possible?

He scowled to himself. The mere thought disgusted him as much as it did scare him.

But that wasn't what would likely keep him awake through the night. Instead, it was the fact that he had heard Balbir's _Mountain Monster_ story before.

Ja'Far didn't take himself to be a superbly avid reader. It was only recently that he even learned to read properly under Rurumu's careful instruction, and whatever he read was somehow in relation to international business, company affairs, or the governmental policies of trade in other countries. Had he ever read anything for fun? Probably not; Ja'Far harrumphed at that. It was impossible that he ever read the tale, so he must have heard it during his childhood, or maybe he inadvertently eavesdropped on a conversation in Balbadd or Parthevia or Reim or…

The possibilities of the story's source began bubbling through his head. And then he wondered how on earth he had never heard of Kalaraq before. If he had known the story, and the story was about Kalaraq, then how…?

His mind spun, round and round in circles until the notion of sleep was light years away.

In the midst of his blizzard of thoughts, Ja'Far's fingers snaked under his pillow, and was surprised when his skin met a cold, smooth surface. He grabbed it, yanking the thing out to realize what it was—the _tawie_ light that Lakita gave him back at the academia center. Turning onto his back, the boy held the broken stone up towards the ceiling, inspecting it as he twirled it over his fingertips. The lines were deliberate, he noticed, as they caught the light of the kerosene lamp by his bedside.

 _A country that ran on magoi_. "Incredible," he mumbled to himself.

"Definitely."

Ja'Far shot upright in bed at the sound of a familiar voice. He slapped a hand to his chest in relief at the sight of his friend. "Mystras! You scared the hell out of me," he said with a sigh.

The knight laughed. "Sorry, didn't mean to catch you off guard, Ja'Far. What're you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Me neither."

A chuckle escaped Ja'Far's lips. "Ghost story?"

"N-No!" he cried, a touch of pink dusting his cheeks. Ja'Far raised a brow. "... okay, yeah," he cleared his throat. "May I come in?"

"Of course, sit wherever you want," Ja'Far gestured to Sinbad's empty bed, anyways.

"Where is he?" Mystras asked about their leader as he quietly shrank into the silk of his seat.

"He said he needed some air," Ja'Far lay down once again, staring at the ceiling. "He should be back soon, I think."

Mystras hummed. "Speaking of which, do you think Sinbad was acting weird today?"

"I think he's been acting weird for months," Ja'Far corrected him. It was true. He had scarce seen his leader smile since his deal with Barbarossa. In fact, it was probably only around Barbarossa that Sinbad had smiled the most.

"Yes, but, _especially_ today," Mystras said. "I think he's suspicious of them, Ja'Far."

"Them?"

"Rohan, Zahra, Faraz, Pari, Balbir," he paused, "maybe even little Lakita. But why?"

"I don't know," Ja'Far replied. "But I can't deny that there's something weird in the air. There's so much history to this place," he tossed the _tawie_ light to Mystras who caught it awkwardly in his hands, "and too many stones that we will probably have to unturn ourselves, since it seems that everyone else here wants to keep their underlying stories hidden."

"Well, maybe they're doing it for the best?"

The boy shrugged, not really convinced. "Maybe."

Mystras laughed to himself. "What if _they_ don't even know what's going on?" he asked as he thumbed the stone between his fingers. "What if everything is a secret even to them, and they're not hiding this stuff on purpose?"

Ja'Far furrowed his brows.

He didn't think about that.

The boy flopped back on Sinbad's bed. "Nevermind, that's ridiculous. How can they not know?" he tittered nervously.

"Right," he said quietly. "Maybe… maybe we should leave."

"What?"

"We have so much work to do. Barbarossa's down payment isn't going to just magically appear in our hands. The purpose of our trip was to go set up a branch in Carthago and all we're doing right now is sitting on our asses doing absolutely nothing! Instead of listening to stories about mountain monsters, we should be trying to get out of here. We're just about to set Sinbad's—no, _our_ dream—into motion, and I can't let this setback in a weird country get in the way!" Ja'Far declared, not realizing that his voice had risen significantly in volume.

He suddenly felt guilty at the hopeless look on Mystras' face. _Shit_ , he thought to himself. _Too far._ "You're right, Ja'Far. But, don't you think this place is wonderful?"

"Wonderful?" he chuckled flippantly. "We got _shipwrecked_. This entire ordeal is anything but wonderful, if you ask me."

"I guess I mean that it's 'full of wonders', more than wonderful," Mystras said, rubbing the back of his head, as he always did when he told the truth, "especially with those really cool trees in the jungle, and the academia center, and the Capital, and…" he trailed off for a moment, "... and these people seem really nice."

 _How foolish._ Ja'Far stood from his bed, walking over to his comrade. "Don't you think that's suspicious, Mystras?" he asked, reproach marring the ends of his words.

Mystras blinked. "Suspicious?"

"Yeah," he said. "Why would they suddenly take us in? Why aren't they telling us all these things? Something is up with this country, and if we don't find out what it is soon, I have a feeling we should leave before we do."

"What if we _do_ find out soon? What then? If there's something wrong, we should help them—that's what we do, right?"

"You and I both know that's not the truth."

 _That_ is what Sinbad does when he sees an opportunity for profit; a chance to get something in return. The fact that they now had a connection with Kalaraqi nobility gave him plenty of room to play political games in what seemed to be a complicated country. With less than five months to secure the deal with Barbarossa, Ja'Far knew that Sinbad didn't have the time or need for that kind of nonsense—not anymore.

He wouldn't have it.

"We're wasting time," he said as he paced over to his window, the moon casting a _jali_ -patterned shadow over his face.

"But, we haven't even been here for a week," said Mystras. "Don't you think you're overreacting, Ja'Far?"

"Overreacting?" he snapped a glare at his friend. "Maybe to you, because right now it seems like I'm the only one who's actually concerned about the situation at hand."

"That's not true, and you know it," Mystras said, suddenly sounding unusually irritated. "We're all worried about what tomorrow will bring, but if you haven't noticed, we have literally nothing but the clothes on our backs," he stood from the bed. "These people have fed us, clothed us, and given us a place to stay. If it weren't for them, we would be starving out in the middle of nowhere, or worse. If we have any chance of making our way back home, it'll be with the help of Zahra, Faraz, and the others."

Ja'Far glowered, relaxing his fisted hands. _Then why is there a voice telling me that if we don't leave now, we never will?_

A gentle hand clasped his shoulder. "Get some rest, Ja'Far. Don't worry, we'll be back on our way soon." He nodded in response, and Mystras started towards the door. "Besides, I'm sure Rurumu has done some scouting for us already in the Capital."

"Rurumu?"

"Yeah, Hinahoho just left with Rohan to bring her here to Etor."

* * *

 _Sinbad_

"Wait, we have to go in _there?_ "

"Yeah? What's the problem?"

Sinbad frowned. It wasn't that he was afraid of the darkness of the jungle, nor was he _really_ afraid of being thrown around by another tree branch. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something telling him to stay as far as possible from the overgrown thicket. Still, it was a diminutive sense of danger compared to his ego. "Nothing."

"Good," Zahra's brusque remark almost stung. "Because if we want to be back before the sun rises, we have to go now," she said as she gripped the neck of her leather cloak. She eyed him curiously, pouting before reaching out to throw the hood of his own cloak over his head, covering his eyes. Sinbad adjusted it with a grunt, and followed her footsteps as they trudged into the depths of the jungle.

As an adventurer, Sinbad had faced perilous and often uncomfortable circumstances. Still, he couldn't help but wonder how on earth plants could grow so close together. There were layers of them, growing on top of one another as though they were fighting to survive. The further Zahra led him in, the more he felt that he shouldn't have been in there. _I wonder if she feels the same way_ , he mused.

"You know where we're going right?" he called out between sputters as leaves and branches smacked his face.

"Of course!" she cried back, "I've been here hundreds of ti—oof!" her voice fell short as she toppled forward, disappearing beneath the coverage of fan-like leaves.

"Zahra!" Sinbad exclaimed, rushing to her side. "Are you okay?" he asked, heaving branches back and forth, looking under leaves and brushes to find her, but to no avail. Brows scrunched, he glanced about. _What the hell?_

She was gone?

Sinbad scratched his head, looking again in the area that he swore she fell. "Hey, where'd you go?" he bellowed. "Zahra?" He tried scanning his surroundings, but the trees seemed to close in around him; they were trapping him in. Creaks and groans flooded his hearing: the whispers of insect wings, the sway of leaves in the cool night air, and… words?

Silencing himself, he listened for them.

" _... out."_

" _G…"_

He laughed a little. _You're hearing things. Stop bugging_ —

" _Get… out."_

" _Get out."_

" _Get out."_

 _GET OUT._

Choking.

Sinbad suddenly felt like he was choking.

He wanted to cover his ears, but he had to listen for her reply. "Zahra, this isn't funny anymore. Zahra!"

Heart thrumming hard, smashing against his ribs, Sinbad quickly realized that he was completely alone. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he turned this way and that, but no matter which direction he faced, all he saw was jungle to the left, jungle to the right, jungle above and below and all around him. The ground beneath him seemed like it was creeping up his calves, and the leaves of the brush grew fingers, clawing, grabbing, prodding at him beneath his cloak. His vision began to swirl, dizzied, and he almost collapsed to the dirt in confusion and fear until—

"There you are!"

Lungs in his throat, Sinbad whipped around to see Zahra, standing a few feet away and brushing stray leaves off of her shoulders. He suddenly felt faint, and leaned on a nearby tree to support his buckling knees, ignoring the beetles that scattered away on the trunk. "Where the hell did you go?"

She managed to push her way through to him. "Don't mock me," she said defiantly as she rubbed away dirt on her lips with the back of her hand. "You're such a dick. I just fell, you know."

"What?" Sinbad was incredulous. "No, I'm not mocking you. Y-you disappeared. You fell right here," he pointed to the spot where she had supposedly fallen, "and then I couldn't find you, and then you ended up over there." Zahra shook her head, crossing her arms, looking at him as if he were a child.

"If I knew you were going to act like this, I wouldn't have brought you at all," she said, hands on hips.

"Are you crazy?"

"I should be asking _you_ that!"

Sinbad was about to protest, but he thought about it for a moment, and suddenly realized that what he was saying really _was_ crazy. How on earth could she have fallen in one place and appeared in another without him seeing her? It was impossible.

 _Did it even happen at all?_

" _Get out."_

He gripped his head. "Nevermind. Lets keep going."

Sinbad expected her to chastise him, but instead, a twinge of concern made her lips crinkle. "Okay."

After walking for some time, Sinbad realized that he was laughably out of shape. All that time spent at his desk, eating food through all nighters filled with paperwork, and drinking—so much drinking—had taken a toll on his physique.

Zahra, however, seemed quite the opposite. She walked with ease, even though she had to work to push obstacles out of her way. It was with shame that he realized he was the only one out of breath when they finally came to a halt. He doubled over, breathing hard as he rested his hands on top of his thighs.

"We're here," Zahra breathed, something bubbling in her tone.

 _She's… excited?_

Mustering the last of his strength, Sinbad straightened up to look at whatever it is she was marvelling at. To his dismay, he only saw a small entrance to what seemed to be a cave. It was carved away into a massive rock formation cloaked in shrubbery. Still, it was nothing special. "This is it?"

The girl harrumphed, a smirk playing over her lips. "Things aren't always what they seem," she said before ducking her head and entering into the doorless darkness. Sinbad sighed. She was going in with or without him.

He turned left and right, and his gaze fell upon a bust sculpture buried deep in the ground by the entrance. Deep green moss and purple fungi made the gleaming black sculpture their home, and hid its facial features. But he was able to identify engraved lines swirling all over its form. They were vaguely familiar.

Officially intrigued, he entered the cave.

 _Here goes nothing._

* * *

 _Rohan_

"Sorry, you have _how many kids?_ "

Hinahoho laughed again. "Three, and one more on the way!"

"Man, that's incredible. We're the same age, but you have your entire life together!" Rohan cried, reaching his hands behind his head as they walked down the path towards the Capital. "That's really admirable, you know?" he said wistfully.

"Nah, it isn't that big of a deal. I just really love my family, that's all there is to it," said Hinahoho. "But Sinbad always keeps me busy, so I'm never not working, either. It isn't easy."

Rohan could relate to that part. "Yeah, I understand. I'm always working in the western orchards."

"So you work the field? I saw the beautiful fruits from there at the market."

"Yeah, that's because of the ridiculous amount of _magoi_ in the earth itself; it made the soil _really_ fertile," Rohan explained, using exaggerated hand gestures to express just how much _magoi_ he was talking about. "But Kalaraqi researchers discovered that they could actually extract the _magoi_ directly from the land. They call it Harvesting."

"Ah, I see," Hinahoho nodded sagely, holding his chin in thought. "So that's how you powered all those magic tools?"

"Yeah. Most magic tools are obsolete, but there's still a few major things that we need _magoi_ to power. An example would be the gate to Kalaraq itself—it's completely _magoi_ -powered."

"I see, so that's why everyone was so shocked that we didn't have a _kalahm_ pass—you need one to safely enter and leave Kalaraq through the gate."

"Bingo," Rohan confirmed. "But the gate is self-sufficient, so it doesn't really need humans to fix it. For people like me, who aren't as particularly gifted with science-y shit like most Kalaraqi, we're responsible for manual labor in other parts of the country. So, I'm a farmer."

According to his mother, it was 'unfortunate turn of fate' that Rohan wasn't an academic prodigy like his younger sister. He thought back to the gruelling hours spent under Uncle Balbir's teaching, the one-on-one sessions he spent with the best tutors his family could afford, and he remembered how he just couldn't grasp the material the way Zahra did in a heartbeat. As a child, he was much more transfixed on tinkering with the magic tools at home than understanding the nitty-gritty details of energy conversion, form and function, efficiency, circuitry, and everything else that made his head spin round.

"So people replaced the magic tools that used to do all the hard jobs. I take it that it's been like that since Ak-aro, huh?"

Rohan was impressed. "You're good at this."

"So I'm told," Hinahoho shrugged with a snicker. "What're you going to do when I'm picking up Rurumu?"

 _Shit_. Rohan's tongue melted into jelly. "Oh, well, um, I kind of have to, uh, meet someone."

"Uh-huh," _Damn, does he have to be_ this _good?_ "This someone must be special—you're bumbling like a little girl."

"W-What? It's just a friend."

"Uh-huhhh," Hinahoho drawled.

"A friend, I swear."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, _Roro._ "

Rohan's heart dropped.

"Wait, where did you—how did you—"

 _Damn it, Zahra!_

"We're here!" Hinahoho exclaimed.

Rohan didn't even notice that they'd entered into the Capital, overwhelmed by the rush of images jumping around in his head.

"Well, I'm going on ahead," Hinahoho announced with pride. "Tell me all about it later, yeah?" An elbow in the ribs, intended to be playful, almost sent Rohan crashing to the ground. He struggled to laugh casually.

"You're hilarious!"

"See ya, loverboy!" Hinahoho waved over his shoulder as they split ways.

Rohan shook his head, chuckling to himself. _I like him_.

He soon found himself on his own, standing at an all too familiar entrance. It had been some time since Rohan had visited Dead Sea Tavern, the most famous tavern in the entire Capital. It wasn't that he wasn't big on drinking (he drank like a fish), it was just that he was rather scared of one of the waitresses who worked at this particular tavern.

He watched as Hinahoho made his way to the inn. He had a few hours before meeting with him and Rurumu to return home, thus he had some time to kill. So, with a deep breath, he forced himself through the beaded curtain and into the darkness of the tavern. The fumes of tobacco and scent of alcohol danced in the air, mingling with the haughty laughter of drunk men and the strained giggles of weary waitresses. Rohan breathed it all in happily. _So nostalgic._

"Rohan?"

He turned in response, only to face a pair of waitresses with beams of excitement practically shooting out of their eyes. "Uh, yeah? That's me."

They squealed, clasping each other's hands and bouncing on their heels. "Oh my gosh, it really _is_ him!"

"He's _so_ much hotter than I expected!" _Excuse me?_

"Oh my gosh, should we tell her?"

"Indra! That's _such_ a bad idea!" she stared at the other girl intently for a moment. " _Let's do it._ "

It took a few moments for everything to get through Rohan's thick skull. Realization hit him like a set of cinderblocks, and he felt all the blood drain from his face. "H-Hey, wait a minute! Don't—" but the two had already vanished behind a pair of swinging saloon doors, giggling maniacally.

 _Shit, shit, shit!_ Rohan cursed himself, frantically taking seat at the bar. Heart pumping, he fixed his hair, adjusted his bandana, and smoothed the wrinkles of his robes. _Hands. What do I do with my hands?_ he thought, shifting this way and that on his stool until the bartender gave him several bizarre looks. It wasn't that he didn't have any confidence. It also wasn't that he didn't do well with women.

"You've got some nerve coming back here."

It was just that he messed up with this one.

Rohan gulped as he turned to face the rosy-haired waitress. "Listen, Omaira. I can explain—"

"What?" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "Are you going to explain why I haven't seen you for a whole _month_? Or the fact that you've been sleeping around with other girls?"

"WHAT?" Rohan cried. The bartender seemed to be getting increasingly irritated with his outlandish behavior. He hemmed an apology, turning to properly face the girl. "Omaira. That's a lie, because I haven't slept with anybody else but you."

"Oh yeah? Then tell me why you've been avoiding me."

"I got caught up with work. Monsoon season is almost here, and so we've been working twice as hard to prepare for it," Omaira didn't seem convinced, "and on top of that, my father is overseas right now. So, I have to be home more often."

"You couldn't have come to visit me just for a day? For an hour?" she frowned, turning away.

"I'm sorry, love," Rohan brought his hand to her cheek, turning to face him again. Her eyes burned with suspicion and affection, each slowly undoing one another. "I won't let it happen again. I'll come visit you at least twice a week from here on out."

Omaira pouted, crossing her arms over her chest, a washcloth between her fingers. "You promise?"

"I," Rohan smiled mischievously, and she returned it as a stubborn grin spread across her pink lips, "promise," Rohan said as he placed his hands on her hips, pulling her towards him. "Now, tell me how you've been."

"Same old, same old, you know?" she said. As she took a seat on a stool next to his, he noticed that she spoke same way she did every time he saw her: with weariness in her words. "The men grow more hungry, thirsty, and lustful with every passing day."

"Is that so?"

She shrugged, thin shoulders bouncing lightly. "Can't blame them, really. Both local and foreign merchants are making less and less money here in the Capital, since they keep racking up the prices of their products."

Trade hadn't been kind to Kalaraq for the past many years. There had already been major changes to the ways of Kalaraq. Countless methods and morals that Kalaraq held dear to her culture had been sacrificed in hopes of her people's survival. "We lose magic tools, we lose our independence, we lose our culture and our resources, but we magically discover a man-killing beast in the jungle," Rohan laughed despairingly. It all made him want to flee the country and never, ever return. "Solomon, this island is really going to shit, huh?"

"Maybe, but if that's the case, we can run away together," Omaira grinned, gripping his curled fist with her own hand. Whatever twinkled in her stone-gray eyes made Rohan weak in his seat, feeling as though he was falling in love with her as he did countless times before. "Anyways, tell me what's up with you."

"Ugh, where do I start?" Rohan sighed. "We took in some kids the other day."

"Kids?"

"Yeah, four foreigners. Travellers, all of them, hailing from different countries, though," he squinted, as though it would help him make out the expression of shock on Omaira's face. "What?"

"Wait a minute. I met them!"

"Huh?"

"Three of them came in the other day," she said. "A giant with blue hair, a little, sad kid with freckles, and—"

"A purple-haired prick?"

"Yeah!"

"That's them."

"And you took them all in?" Omaira's voice suddenly stooped to a whisper. "Rohan, do you think that's really such a good idea? I mean, they're _foreign_ foreign. As in, they're not just like the foreign merchants who just hang out in the Capital, sell their shit, and leave. It's almost like they're…" she glanced around, as though to ensure nobody would hear her say: "... tourists!"

"How do you know all this?" Rohan raised a brow.

"I, uh, talked to them," she said.

He grimaced. That meant only one thing. "You mean you flirted with the purple-haired one, right?"

Omaira groaned loudly. "Relax, hon. I did it just to figure out who they were."

"You really are manipulative."

"I know," Omaira winked. "Anyways, I found out that they were shipwrecked, and that they had no idea how it even happened."

"Yeah, it was as if they didn't even remember how it happened."

 _What if they_ actually _don't remember how it happened?_

"... You don't think it was…"

"Omaira, no. I know you hear lots of crazy shit around here, but _that_ is definitely not it."

"Okay, okay," she admitted. "Solomon, I'd switch places with them in a heartbeat. I wanna get out of here! How are they doing? Do they even like it in this hellhole of a country?"

Rohan didn't really know how to answer that. "I talked to Zahra about it, and we both agreed to keep quiet about the beast."

"That's probably for the best."

"They're just kids. It would be a shame if they got involved in it, somehow. There have already been more than enough victims just this month."

"Yeah, this could get bad, especially with everybody hating the King because of that _thing_ in the jungle, and the trade industry collapsing to top it all off. They could totally hold sway over the politics here in no time. I told them about the Par'Qalb, but maybe that wasn't such a good idea after all."

"It's fine. I'm sure they've forgotten by now. If it comes up, I'll… I'll take care of it." _Right?_

The woman whined a little. "Hey, they could really cause a lot of trouble. You better keep an eye on them, eh?" she said, as though she suddenly had an epiphany of the days to come.

The man nodded. "Don't worry, I will. We don't need outside opinions and influence to suddenly tip scales around here. I've had enough of it already."

Omaira yawned, running a hand through her silken hair. "It would honestly be better for everyone if they just left."

Rohan couldn't have agreed more.

* * *

 _Sinbad_

Sinbad coughed, blowing dust out of his eyes as he followed Zahra through a seemingly endless passageway. He recalled Pipirika explaining to him that he might be the type of person who didn't like small spaces after he had complained about their unsatisfactory working space at the company's headquarters. He'd grown out of it, he realized, and was ready to seek something bigger and better.

But perhaps he had grown up too quickly.

"Heads up, there's a bunch of stalactites coming our way, so mind your head!" she shouted over her shoulder.

"Where are you taking me anyways?"

They came to a torch, which was already burning as though it was just lit. Zahra picked it up from its hanger on the rock wall. "Impatient, huh?"

"Yeah," he frowned, "it's about time you told me the whole truth." Sinbad pulled the cloak tight near his collarbone. _I'm… cold?_ he thought to himself. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this cold. Kalaraqi sun had been beating down on him for what seemed like forever, and he forgot what it meant to shiver.

Just as Zahra predicted, spikes hanging from the ceiling began blocking their path, increasing in size the further they walked. It seemed to be getting colder and colder as they walked. Sinbad was sure his teeth would shatter from their incessant chattering, and as much as he wanted to complain about it, he kept mum. _How the hell is she not cold?_ he grumbled to himself. Soon enough, they had entered a chamber in the cave, where flowstones hung like oozing teeth and the stalactites sank to the ground to form columns over fifty feet tall. Zahra's torch illuminated it all, the flicker of its flame casting shadows on the rocks. The ceiling sparkled with the light, and it seemed as though millions of diamonds were blinking down at him as he followed the girl, mouth agape with awe. To Sinbad, the cave was coming alive.

 _This is…_ he didn't even notice that his breath had turned to steam. _This is incredible_. Nor did he notice that he had actually stopped in his tracks.

"Uh, Sinbad?"

Rattled, Sinbad turned to face Zahra's mocking smile wearing him down from afar. "Y-Yeah, sorry. I'm coming," he said, jogging towards her.

"This isn't what I wanted to show you."

"It isn't?"

"I told you: things aren't always what they seem," she said as she rounded a corner with a skip in her step, leaving the great chamber behind.

Sinbad followed.

 _Is that… running water?_ he thought, listening carefully as her footsteps faded away.

He turned the corner, and it felt as though the wind was knocked out of his chest.

"What the…" he breathed.

It was another chamber. But instead of the natural neglected flourish of the last one, this chamber was even bigger and wrought with human work and care. It was laden with writing all over the walls, where stone and mineral had been shaved away for canvas-space. Low-relief sculptures danced and stood watch over him, bound to the gray walls and sunken between lines upon lines of writing. They surrounded something even greater in the middle of the chamber—a gargantuan mountain of black sculptures and boulders, piled haphazardly on top of one another. Massive slabs of black rock, defaced with fissures that ran white along their surfaces, stuck out of the pile and littered the lake of water around it like stone guards. Water leaking from the ceiling slipped in and out of the structure, its path slowly mesmerizing Sinbad as he remained riveted to the ground.

"What are you waiting for?" Zahra called out to him. Sinbad realized she had removed her cloak, and was already standing on one of the stone slabs in the lake. She waved over to him, beckoning that he join her as she hopped from stone to stone. Despite her strong, toned legs, she wobbled from time to time as her hands whipped out from her sides to hold her balance.

"H-Hey! That's dangerous!" Sinbad exclaimed.

"Hah! I _live_ for danger!" Zahra cried back as she stood straight, leaping from the last stone to the pile and landing as gracefully as a tiger. "What? Too scared?" she asked, challenging him while she slouched comfortably in the burly arms of a broken, headless sculpture.

Then something sparked in Sinbad's chest. Something caught fire for the first time in a long, long time.

"Do you have any idea who you're talking to?" he called back, shedding his cloak before springing onto the edge of the first slab. It was startlingly thinner than he had expected and rather slippery, so before Sinbad allowed himself the shame of losing to Zahra, he jumped once, twice, three times, and soon enough he had plowed hard into a boulder beside her.

"Hm, not bad. Though, I expected better from an accomplished dungeon capturer," Zahra said, calves swinging over the forearm of her stone prince.

He wouldn't be outdone so easily. "And how many times have you fallen from one of those stones into the water?" he asked. Her calves froze, and she looked away.

"Whatever."

"Mm-hm," he chuckled with satisfaction. Sinbad straightened his posture and managed to clamber on top of a pillar. He looked down the length of it, and discovered designs of flowers, vines, leaves, trees, and birds engraved white into the darkness.

"It's called _obsidium_ ," Zahra said as she plopped down beside him. "Well, that's what Maatanga told me."

"Who's Maatanga?" Sinbad asked.

But the way Zahra glanced at him quickly suggested the inappropriateness of his question.

"Come on, I wanna show you something," she said. Sinbad watched as she stepped on _obsidium_ faces and ankles and chests, heaving herself higher and higher till she disappeared to the top of the pile. _How the hell does she have so much energy?_ he thought before following suite.

Zahra was seated at the edge of the peak, the water from above dripping behind her and sprinkling gems into her hair. He noticed something in her hands. Curious, he sat down, leaning over her shoulder to look at the thing.

"What is that?" he asked.

"It's a piece of one of these tablets," she said before handing it to him. "Careful, it's kinda heavy."

It _did_ have considerable weight in Sinbad's hands as he flipped and turned it, the wetness of his fingertips spreading streaks of droplets across the sleek surface. "It's nice, but it's just a stone."

And then she looked at him, derision like daggers in her eyes.

 _Things aren't always…_

She placed a fingertip on the stone, fog gathering around her touch. Their eyes met, and Sinbad watched as a rogue strand of hair dipped between her brows. She grinned.

" _Hirei qamar taraa."_

Sinbad's breath caught as the stone quivered in his hands. Once black shine glowed white, and a scintillating light spread virulently across the surface of the tablet. He narrowed his eyes, grimacing as it slowly but surely grew brighter and brighter until Sinbad had no choice but to turn away. A sound reverberated throughout the chamber, and it vaguely reminded him of the familiar hum of Baal's lightning.

After a few moments, the light and vibrations faded away. The stone was hot—incredibly hot—but he was somehow able to hold it with little problem. Curious, he turned back to look at the tablet, and was overcome with awe to see lettering glowing softly on the slick surface, as though the script was just beneath a layer of glass. Triangles and circles and dashes shifted like white mercury, and Sinbad recognized it.

Torran.

"What does it say?" he asked.

"I don't know," Zahra confessed. "It's all… jumbled. I just can't make out actual sentences. It's almost as if it's a whole other dialect; it's not like the Torran I learned."

"Oh," Sinbad said. "That's too bad."

"Wait, can you, um," she trailed off, "maybe, decipher it?" she

"So, you need… _help_?" mischief dripped from his lips.

"I didn't say that."

 _Stubborn_.

"You basically did."

"Can you do it or not?" she demanded, her voice as resolute as her jaw was tight.

Sinbad's brow twitched. "Okay, relax. I'll try," he said. It was difficult, now. It had been some time since Rurumu taught him how to read Torran. But, it was just as Zahra said: the words didn't cohere and he couldn't find any meaning in them. He looked up to search her eyes, and they were wracked with both hope and distress. It almost hurt him.

"You can't, right?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"It's okay. It was worth a shot," she said with a shrug, as though she was tossing her emotions down the pile. "So, should we head back?"

Sinbad hummed an agreement. But the rekindled fire in his heart begged otherwise.

* * *

 _Rurumu_

No words were spoken as Hinahoho and Rurumu embraced each other. It had felt like years since they'd last seen each other, even though it had only been one night. Kikiriku gurgled happily in his mother's arms, and his father swung him high into the air, showering him with kisses and shakes that left the boy hiccupping with delight.

"I missed you. Both of you," Hinahoho said.

Rurumu shook her head. "Awh, how are you going to survive without me, sweetie?"

He snickered. "I can't, darling," he said, planting a kiss on her forehead and then her swelling belly. "How was your stay here?"

"Ah, it was lovely," she said. "The innkeeper was truly accommodating for me and Kikiriku, and I ended up learning a lot about the way things run here by talking to merchants and local citizens around town."

 _Thank goodness I did._

"That's great! So—"

"Wait, how is Mystras? Did you find him? Is he alright?"

Hinahoho laughed. "He's better than ever. We were taken in by a family in another village. They've been really kind to us for the past few days."

"And the others?"

"Safe and sound."

She could rest easy, now. "I'm so glad," Rurumu smiled, but Hinahoho must have seen its plaintiveness.

There was no fooling him, after all.

"What is it, honey? Why do you look so—"

She couldn't hide the tears pricking her eyes.

"Hinahoho, we need to leave. _Now_."

* * *

 _Malik_

Lord Malik truly hated being sick.

There was absolutely nothing more mind-numbingly boring and unproductive than being bedridden for days on end. _Well, perhaps death would be worse_ , he mused as he stared idly at the ceiling of his chambers. To be fair, they weren't really _his_ chambers. He assumed that King Rashid was truly a kind man, since he had offered Malik a place to rest in his own palace. Yet, as Malik gazed around the room, lavish with fine, silver inlay furniture crafted in Reim, silk curtains spun in eastern Kou, and furbished with ornate frescos of people dancing amongst tropical birds and palm trees, he once again heard the voice that solemnly whispered: _what are you doing here?_

Malik was snapped out of his thoughts at a knock on his door. "Yes?" he asked, coughing violently into his arm. "Come in."

The door opened slowly, and the lord's eyes widened when a young girl, no more than ten years old, pushed a cart (that was almost too tall for her arms) into the room.

"Good afternoon, Lord Malik," she said, her voice cracking, almost disappearing into the air like a dead leaf. "I've brought you some medicinal tea as well as some ointments to aid with your illness."

He smiled. "Ah, thank you, dear child. How kind of you," he said, attempting to sit up beneath heavy sheets, but quickly collapsing from a sudden rush of dizziness. "Damn, I've really done it this time," he muttered to himself.

The girl's eyes lit up with surprise, the mop of her choppy brown hair bobbing. "No worries, my lord! I'll bring this right over to you. Please, just lie still!" she squeaked as she put all of her strength into trying to make the cart turn towards his bedside. It creaked and whistled on its wheels, but refused to move. Silently, she began pulling it back and forth, and Malik watched with a pitying smile as she aimed the cart in the proper direction, bit by little bit. But even when she was able to finally push it towards him, she crashed the cart into the bedpost. Teacups flew and smashed to the ground on impact. "Oh no!" she yelped. "I'm so sorry, my lord. I'm a new servant girl, and head servant Jirah always says I'm so clumsy… I… I'll clean this up right away," ending her apology, she knelt to the ground to pick up the sharp bits in her small, worn hands.

Malik couldn't bear it any longer. "You don't need to worry about that," he assured her, leaning to the side of the bed so he could meet her gaze from the glistening marble floor. The girl looked up at him quizzically, shards of imported porcelain in her tiny palms. "Stand up, and leave the pieces on the cart." he ordered, and the servant girl obeyed. A strange look crossed her face.

"M-My lord?"

"Come, sit with me," he said, patting a space on the edge of the bed. "I've been sitting here all day by myself, so would you like to keep me company? I would very much appreciate it."

Despite his best efforts at the kindest smile he could muster, the girl looked even more petrified, her shoulders shuddering with fear. "M-My l-lord… I-I haven't… I was told that I'm not old enough to… I believe that y-you will be punished if… if…" she became fixated on her feet.

And then Malik understood.

 _Solomon, I really_ am _daft, after all._

He felt nauseous.

"NO!" he exclaimed suddenly, which seemed to scare the child more. "No, no, no, dear," he said, more quietly this time. "I didn't mean anything like that. Not at all." He was practically yanking the sincerity out of his heart. "I promise, I don't want to hurt you. I only wanted to tell you some stories."

The girl's posture relaxed. "My lord, I'm only a servant girl. I really shouldn't—"

"Oh, nonsense. You can spare a few minutes to hear the tales of a place that nobody has ever heard of before, right?"

"Really?" she asked breathlessly, as though she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "There's a place that nobody's ever heard of before?"

Malik grinned triumphantly, forcing himself to sit up as the girl gingerly took a seat. "Yes, my dear. You see, there was once an island in the middle of the ocean that was filled with magic."

"Magic? But there's no such thing as magic," she sounded defeated.

"Oh, but there is," Malik said. Her jaw dipped a little in shock. "Magic is what kept the island alive, you see. The people there depended on it for their wellbeing. The magic made their crops grow lush and bountiful. It made the trees grow strong and sturdy—perfect for building everything from small homes to great palaces. The magic also powered their machines, which helped them in their daily life."

"What's a ma-mach… um…" she bit her lip, confused.

He laughed a little. " _Machine_ , dear child. Machines made the people's lives easier. The people were also incredibly smart. They were gifted with quick minds and nimble fingers, and they were able to grow into a powerful, independent nation with the help of their machines, magic, and the leadership of their great king."

"A king? Like King Rashid?"

"Yes, a king like King Rashid."

Her small mouth made an 'O' shape for understanding. "So what about the magic, my lord? Could the people see magic?"

"No, my dear. They could _feel_ it."

"What?" she was starstruck. "You can feel magic?"

"Of course! Magic is like energy. It can be found in plants and animals, the sky and the sea, in the earth and the wind—it exists everywhere," he grinned. "It even exists in you," he said gently, pressing a finger softly to her nose. She gasped.

"There's magic in _me_?"

"Yes," Malik said. "There's magic in you. Don't listen to Jirah or anyone who tells you that you're clumsy or that you're useless. You, my dear, are made of magic," the girl was gazing at him intently now. "Don't ever forget that."

Her lips spread from ear to ear, eyes glittering with amazement. "I won't, my lord!"

"Please, just call me Malik," he said. "Let's keep this conversation between us, yeah? Our little secret."

"Okay, mister Malik," she beamed.

"Run along, now, Za—" he stopped himself. The girl gave him a querying look.. He shook his head in response, ruffling her hair fondly. She hopped off the bed to the cart once again. Malik watched as she heaved it with newfound strength, pushing it back towards the door.

She stopped midway.

"Mister Malik?"

"Yes, child?"

"How come nobody's ever heard of this island before?"

Malik's chest strained. "Because nobody has ever truly left it."

* * *

 _Sinbad_

Zahra had insisted on a shortcut. Through countless trials and tribulations and adventures and conquests, Sinbad had learned that shortcuts ought to be taken with a grain of salt. He could recall the many, many times that sneaky plans often bite back rather quickly.

She, however, didn't seem above using them.

Gazing down, Sinbad realized that they were at the edge of a steep slope littered with hefty tree roots and giant boulders. He deadpanned. _That's_ such _a trek._

"Do we really—woah, w-wait!" Too late. An alarmingly strong grip found his wrist, and before he realized what was happening, Zahra was leading him down the slope a bit too quickly for his liking.

She weaved her way down expertly. With lithe steps, Zahra led him over rocks, around jagged tree stumps, and between all of nature that reached out to trip them like claws plucking at his ankles. She moved as though she had truly followed the exact same path so hundreds of times before. The hood of her cloak slipped away from her head, the black of her hair open to the midnight breeze and bouncing with her every step. Wild laughs echoed into Sinbad's ears as he clumsily chased behind her. "Keep up, foreigner!" she cried.

Unfortunately, he wasn't _that_ fast of a learner.

His foot caught on the end of something hard. "Shit!" he cursed as he tripped, collapsing with little grace onto an unsuspecting Zahra.

"Hey! Watch it—!"

And they tumbled down, down, down. Sinbad's back crashed horrifically against tough roots as the world spun around and around. Dirt and pebbles splattered against his face, scraping and scratching at his back and his calves, then his shoulder, then his chest, until his body finally came to a stop. He groaned, sore all over, but his voice was muffled with leather.

 _Wait_.

Head still whirling, Sinbad looked up dizzily, only to realize that he was, indeed, slumped over a very flustered Zahra.

One hand on her shoulder, the other by her waist, his forehead at the crook of her neck, and his knees tangled between her own.

 _Shit._

Sinbad had been in the same position many, perhaps even hundreds of times with hundreds of women…

"Get. Off," he felt the rugged grain in her voice.

… But this was the first time that he was both petrified of and inexplicably livid at the woman he was pinning to the ground.

He pressed himself up on his hands to look at her eye to eye, and the purple length of his hair dipped down into hers. Yet as she stared back, he couldn't spot even a hint of embarrassment nor a touch of arousal on her expression. Between her brows and in her sparkling brown irises, he saw only anger.

The rogue strand of hair now hung over the bridge of her nose. Did it ever stay in place?

Then it suddenly reminded Sinbad of his father.

"Sorry," he said, shaking the thought out of his head. He carefully gathered his standing before offering a hand out to the girl.

Not to his surprise, Zahra stood up on her own.

She dusted off the dirt from her cloak. "You really have forgotten a lot, huh?" she said with a snort before continuing on her way.

"Forgotten what?" he asked.

With a flashy grin, she said, "Adventure."

* * *

 _Zahra_

 _About 11 years ago..._

The _hiss_ of leaves approached the little girl. It came closer, whilst the promise of Zahra's escape began slipping from her fingers in vain. Her breaths were heavy and labored, and her loose hair was a mess. She had lost her father's satchel along the way. It didn't really matter, but she was disappointed that she wouldn't have the chance to die with it.

 _Happy. Thoughts._

She ground her toes into the dirt, fruitlessly trying to still her quaking knees. Her small, bloody hands curled into fists, and her big brown eyes locked on their target.

 _I'm not afraid._

 _I'm not afraid_

 _I'm not afraid._

" _If you want to go, go!"_

"I'M NOT AFRAID!" Zahra screamed at the top of her lungs.

A greeting soon came. Glowing pink eyes and a painful growl approached her from the darkness.

Breath coming fast against the hot mist of the jungle, Zahra watched, stunned, as the beast slowly stepped out before her.

Her eyes immediately fell upon its paws. Giant, as big as a table, covered in black scales and deathly with long, glistening, ivory claws. Then, the rest of the beast gradually emerged from the depths of the jungle, melting away into open air. To Zahra, it almost seemed like it just kept growing until it was as big as a mountain. It was perhaps five, no, six times as tall as she was. It was splattered in scales that shined and shifted against the moonlight like _obsidium_ would. Great, dagger-like horns sprouted from its jaws, framing its face and protruding through its long and unruly fuchsia mane. Dense black fur coated the rest of the monster, and veins pulsed with power along its legs, shoulders, and cheeks through its thickness.

But what made Zahra stagger was the beast's teeth. They didn't drip with blood like the people of Etor had said. They were white and pearly, but enormous and as sharp as blades.

It was horrible.

Yet, it made no move to attack her. In fact, it made no movement at all. It stood there, pink eyes cast downward on the girl's form. It didn't growl. It didn't even flinch. It just watched.

Zahra gazed back, her neck craning painfully to keep her eyes on the beast. She didn't even pay attention to the fact that she wasn't dead yet. All that she seemed to think about was that it almost seemed...

And then, after what seemed to be hours, the beast turned away silently. It crept back into the depths of the jungle from which it came, tail swishing amongst the brush as it disappeared once again.

It left a terribly confused Zahra behind, who stood absolutely wonderstruck.

* * *

 **My loves, my loves, I'm back! AND I kind of updated on time? A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE!**

 **Anyways, this was a bit of a long chapter. The writing isn't as beautiful in this because I literally just grinded it out to upload it for y'all AHAHa, hope it's not too disappointing :')) (pls be gentle w me)**

 **YOU GUYS. You wonderful amazing people. Thank you so so much for the reviews and favs and follows - I'm so glad that my story is actually reaching you guys somehow and it makes me absolutely thrilled :)) ilyy**

 **Also, I realized that I called King Rashid by _HAROUN_ for an entire chapter. That's quite embarrassing. It's being fixed now *is very ashamed* I'm a disgrace to the magi fandom.**

 _ **REVIEW RESPONSES:**_

justme: Hey again! You were absolutely right, and I actually changed it almost the moment you posted your review! I now made the first chapter a prologue and put that part in there, and so what used to be the first chapter is now a part of the previous second chapter/current first chapter. Sorry, a bit confusing to explain, much easier to just see and be like 'ah okay'. Yes, the purpose was to entice readers since I realized 'wow the opening scene is rather boring', so you really helped me out here! THANK YOU SO MUCH!

Anna: WELCOME BACK LOVE! Thank you so much! I do believe that Zahra is having a bit too much one on one time with Sinbad as of late (ahem this entire chapter dammit), but at the same time, I just can't resist. AND YES we're finally getting somewhere! It was a lot of buildup, I know, but I'm so happy that you stuck through it all up until now! I hope to see you in future chapters as well :)) AND YES I changed the cover, I just keep changing it because I'm just never satisfied, and I'm glad you liked the prologue now! And you are definitely assuming things along the right lines ;))

Hey: HOLA! You don't come off rude at all - in fact, you come off really polite and kind and I'm glad that you took the time to write this review! AND YOU CAUGHT ME REDHANDED! I definitely am a sucker for imagery and fancy words and sometimes its good but sometimes I let it run my life, which is never the best thing, so you're absolutely right. In fact, with this update, I went back and edited some other chapters because they were unnecessarily prosy (especially the earlier ones). At the same time, I do hope readers take time to read longer paragraphs. At least in a lot of books, prose can be tedious at times but it's also a vital part of the English language. STILL though, I'm a prose maniac, so I should still take a chill pill ahaha.

I do understand that maybe the characters reactions are exaggerated, but I also feel like they're somewhat realistic? I will go back and look over them, but I'd like to ask that you keep in mind that some stuff has deeper meanings (e.g. the weird feeling they get? That's important, it's not _just_ a weird feeling). It would actually be really awesome if you could point out some of the parts where the characters' reactions are exaggerated/when my writing gets prosy, so I can edit them better! But its okay I can figure it out :))

Anyways, I hope that this story doesn't come off Enigma-y, because it's not an Enigma-y story at all. I haven't even gotten past chapter 10 in Enigma (i'm really slow), sooo... yeah.

Lastly, I'm glad that you find Zahra interesting, because she definitely is an unusual one. I hope that this chapter shed a bit more light on her character, but as you said, she does need to interact with more of the crew. More on that in the next chapter. Much more. hehehee.

 **Guys, I love you. I'm so glad that people are enjoying this story that I am bumbling along with, and I so so appreciate your support through this journey :) Hope it's just as much of an adventure for you as it is for me!**

 **Also - don't be afraid to rip my writing to shreds! I really appreciate critical feedback (just, you know, don't be rude about it please and thank you!), because honestly that's the kind of feedback that drastically changes the way I approach my writing. So please HIT ME AS HARD AS YOU CAN! *flails arms emphatically***

 **Thanks again, guys! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. SEE YOU SOON!**

 **~ AVA**


	12. Oath

**I'm so sorry. It's been so long. I'm so, so sorry. I have so many changes too, I just completely revamped this story because I was pretty unhappy with it.**

 **So, I switched some names around (I'll explain later, gotta upload ASAP)**

 **Balbir = Bihzad  
** **Lakita = Mahdiyya  
Pari = Dalilah  
Khaleel = Khalid**

* * *

 **EXTRAORDINARY**

12

Oath

 _Faraz_

"You've got to be shitting me, right?"

"Sinbad, wait—"

"I _knew_ something was up. We are so _out_ of here!"

" _Solomon_ , Ja'Far, just—"

"So _that's_ what's been happening. Why didn't you tell us earlier?"

"You too, Hinahoho?!"

Things fell apart quickly when Rurumu brought home news about the rumors floating around in the Capital. Fortunately, Bihzad had taken Mahdiyya home, where they both just barely escaped the filth of the ensuing arguments.

Faraz, however, wasn't so lucky. He could do little to assuage the brawl exploding in the room. His ears were already ringing.

"How long were you going to hide this?"

"We can discuss this in the morning, everyone," Rurumu tried to calm him, "and Ja'Far, you don't need to be so angry—" to little avail.

"Until we found out? Until one of us got killed?" Ja'Far cried up at Rahwan, who was probably as helpless as he looked.

"What the—no! It's just—"

"Not your problem," Zahra continued, to which Rahwan nodded, "that's why we didn't tell you about it."

Ja'Far scoffed. "Right. A _beast_ prowling around in the jungle that we were actually _in_ just two days ago is not our problem at all." Faraz flinched at the sarcasm which stung him a little more than it should have.

"Okay, so what do we do now?" Hinahoho asked.

"Not too sure," Rahwan said.

"What the _hell_ do you mean?" Ja'Far snapped.

"Well, if you leave, you could put Kalaraq at risk, and we'd all be convicted of letting unregistered foreigners escape. If you stay, on the other hand, we might get out of getting convicted by submitting you guys to the authorities, but—"

"Maybe the Par'Qalb can help them figure a way out?" Zahra offered.

"Fucking hell, Zahra!" her brother scolded her.

"What?" she asked.

"I _literally_ just said—"

"But why, though?" Rahwan made a face that urged her to stop talking, which Ja'Far took notice of.

"Great. _More_ secrets," Ja'Far rolled his eyes. "What else could there possibly be? You know, besides a monster lurking just a few yards away."

Zahra, at her wit's end, said "Okay, kid, that's enough—"

"Don't you _fucking_ call me that ever again!" Ja'Far shrieked, his voice breaking.

She turned to him, as though she had never seen such anger from anyone but herself. "You're _my_ guest. I'll call you whatever I please, _kid_."

"You say that as if you're some high and mighty princess."

"At least I'm not as bratty as you are."

"You're going to regret that."

"Try me."

"Hold on a moment," Dalilah intercepted.

"What?!" Ja'Far and Zahra cried simultaneously, practically at each other's throats.

"Maybe… maybe this is a good thing."

Faraz felt his heart plummet. _Is she really going to…?_

A laugh escaped the boy's lips. "That's hilarious. This," he said, pointing to the ground emphatically, "this is a good thing? Us, being stuck here on an island with people that wouldn't even tell us that our lives were in danger this entire time?"

Dalilah stepped forward, gripping the shawl around her shoulders. "Perhaps you could help us."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Well, this isn't the first time that we've entered a country with a few problems of its own, Ja'Far," the Imuchakk giant reasoned. "This is no different."

"Wrong, Hinahoho. This _is_ different. We don't have time for any of this. As much as we'd want to help them, we have our own hurdles to jump right now. We're wasting time!" Ja'Far turned to look at an expressionless Sinbad. "Let's get out of here right now, Sin." The leader's face remained passive despite the younger child's pleas.

"Wait," said Dalilah after placing a gentle hand on the young boy's shoulder, although he made no move to face her. "You can't go yet."

"Mother!" Zahra cried suddenly.

Rahwan shared the surprise. "You can't just—"

"Please," Dalilah urged, her knuckles paling as her grip strengthened. "This country is a lost cause. As long as that beast continues to live, our people continue to die. Riots have broken out in the Capital, other villages are starving because the creature destroys their crops and kills their farmers, families are being torn apart one by one and the only thing that the Kalaraqi can do is blame it on their Idle King."

"Solomon's staff, that's _treason_!" Zahra cursed, her voice a harsh whisper.

"Oh, nonsense. Everyone calls him for who he is: a coward who does nothing to save this country."

"You're wrong," said Rahwan, "The King is not to blame for this."

Dalilah stood straight, a lofty smile on her lips. "You're right, my son. It isn't the Idle King's fault. The beast is the root of all of our problems."

"Mother, you can't possibly be serious," said a bewildered Rahwan. "There's no need to bring other people into this mess. Haven't we lost enough lives already? Besides, if word gets out to the rest of the world, Kalaraq would no longer be Kalaraq. We are who we are because we lived apart from the outside. We didn't need the rest of the world because we had ourselves."

"Kalaraq's independence is long gone," his mother's voice was stern. "It wasn't for nothing that the Par'Qalb advised the King to open trade routes to other countries. We simply can't support ourselves any longer, not with that beast around. If you really want Kalaraq to return to being Kalaraq—the self-sufficient, strong, superior and formidable civilization that it once was—then something has to change," she paused, turning to face the back of Ja'Far's head once again, "we _need_ you."

A silence.

Then gently, unexpectedly—

"We'll help."

Mystras was graced with eight head turns.

"What?" Ja'Far asked quietly.

"We'll. Help." Armored steel gleamed in his tone.

"Mystras, do you know what you're saying?"

"Yes, I do," he said. "We're going to do what we've done for other people. We're going to help them because it is the right thing to do. Yes, we have things to take care of on our own side, but we can't just stand by and watch as people struggle and die. It's unbecoming. It's selfish. It's not who we are," Mystras implored the surprised gazes of his comrades, save for Ja'Far's. "We can help them. We must."

Dalilah's hand left Ja'Far's shoulder, who still had his back turned to her. "Then kill the beast."

Everything began falling into place. Faraz felt a little sick.

"You don't have to do this," Zahra threw herself forward, blocking the outsiders' view of her mother's cunning eyes with outstretched arms. "You'll be making a huge mistake."

"My sister's right. They say the beast is invincible. No matter what advanced weapons the King has used—"

"You mean, whatever he has left," Dalilah muttered.

Rahwan cleared his throat before continuing, "All soldiers have failed. No trap, no poison, no steel can kill the thing. It's too clever, too elusive. It plays tricks on anyone who comes near it. It makes a fool out of them."

"We've encountered greater hardships," Sinbad finally said. "We've established allegiances and nurtured international relations. We've conquered that which couldn't be conquered, and we've pulled other countries from the depths of crises. Mystras is right. Unlike your king, we will not remain at a standstill. If it is help that you seek, we will do our best to provide it for you as well."

"A noble speech," Zahra spat, as though she'd heard such promises before only for them to be broken. "But what is it that you ask for in return? You couldn't possibly expect us to believe that you'd help us just out of the goodness of your heart."

"Is that so? Isn't that exactly what you did for us?"

Her arms lowered, jaw clenched so hard that Faraz thought her teeth would surely shatter to sand.

"You took us in when we had nothing." Sinbad stepped forward. "You helped us and expected nothing in return." Another step. "You saved us, so let us do the same for you."

Faraz observed the way Zahra looked at the foreigner, with disdain and terror, almost as if she was beseeching him to hold his tongue with fear of what both she and Faraz _knew_ Sinbad was about to say.

With Sinbad's boot ringing for a final time on the tile floor, he swore an oath. "We owe you."

The satisfied smirk on Dalilah's face said it all. Even Ja'Far's intransigence now seemed powerless after those three words. There was nothing Faraz could do.

Or maybe, there was.

* * *

 _Malik_

Although Kalaraq was much more severe, Malik was surprised to feel Balbaddi heat make him feel rather faint. He wiped his brow, the turban wrapped loosely around his head somehow made him even hotter.

"M-My lord, we rea-really ought to get back to p-p-palace so-oon," Khalid stuttered as he dodged ox-hauled caravans of fruits and children carrying baskets of root vegetables.

"Oh, relax, Khalid. Live a little!" Malik said. King Rashid didn't know that he was outside of the palace walls, but what was the worst that could happen? A scolding for disobeying orders? With two women in his house, Malik had dealt with worse. "After all, when Dalilah gets here, then we'll _never_ get to go and sightsee." The streets were very, very crowded. Balbadd's local bazaar was a bit disorganized, but there was a certain charm to it, too. It was more rugged than the Capital. The smell of dust, sweat, and street foods flooded his nostrils rather than the sweeter fragrance of sage incense and fruits from the orchards, the sugar that he was accustomed to. There was a liveliness to this place, a raw sort of energy pulsating in the cheery smiles of merchants and the wild laughs of child thieves. It was rejuvenating. It was what the Capital lacked.

Things settled down when he passed through the chaos of the bazaar. The houses became more decrepit, crumbling slabs of rock adorning the streets rather than vendors. He observed men and women, young and old, littering the streets, leaning against door frames like rotten trees.

"Th-This is…" Khalid trailed off.

"The slums, it appears." There was no doubt in his mind. The people were scrawny, pale to a greenish hue. An elderly woman was knitting something on a stairwell, the needles wooden and chipping, the yarn stringy and weak. Unlike the others in the slums, her gaze didn't follow him. She just kept knitting, determined, hope entwined into the flimsiness of her yarn.

"Pardon, sir," a young woman appeared before him. Malik didn't even notice her approach, his gaze too fixated on the knitting woman. "You are a lord, no?"

"Yes," he said, without hesitating. "What—"

"Please," she took his hands earnestly, the bones of her knuckles sharp against his skin, "can you help my son?"

It was the Red Fever. Malik recognized it immediately after seeing the boy in his home. He was resting in a swaddle of fabrics, a giant pot of water beside him with random, useless herbs and weeds floating on its surface. Malik assumed it was the mother's desperate attempt to make something medicinal.

Khalid whispered to him from the entrance. "P-Perhaps this i-isn't the best i-idea, Lord M-M-Malik."

Malik ignored him, walking straight to the boy's side. He rested his hand on his forehead, and was sharply alarmed by the boy's high temperature. "When did the symptoms begin?" he asked the mother.

"S-Symptoms?" she mumbled. "What are s-sy—" she struggled to pronounce the foreign word.

"When did he become sick?"

"A few days ago," she sighed, brushing the dark, matted hair out of her son's sweaty forehead. "The fever struck him so quickly. Nobody I've talked to can heal him, and the soothsayers say that he only has a few more days to live. I spent all of our savings buying," her voice cracked, "medicines and ointments that were supposed to help, but he only got worse."

The boy coughed suddenly, sitting up weakly, a motion that he seemed wearily used to. He eyed Malik, rebellion glimmering in his eyes. "Who… who are you?"

"I am a healer, my boy," Malik mumbled. "Your mother asked me to help you."

The child smiled. "Nobody can help me. What is it that they say? 'The Red Fever always kills?'"

"Hussain, don't say such things!" the mother cried.

"Why not?" Hussain snapped before coughing into his arm, skin pulling taught over his elbow. "It's the truth. The truth is something that nobody can escape."

"Here," the mother said, offering a ladle of water from the pot to her son's lips. "Drink—"

But Malik knocked it right out of her hand, the linen on the ground drenched in the poison.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the boy cried defensively. "You can't treat my mom like that!"

"You mustn't drink the water," Malik said, stern as he could be. "It's contaminated."

"What?" the mother was in disbelief. "That can't be. This is the only water we have. We all draw from the local well."

"Don't draw from it any longer," Malik replied. "Use rain water."

"It's the dry season, asshole. We can't," Hussain said bitterly.

Malik smiled. "As you say, son. If you must draw from the well, then…" he said, reaching into his robes to find his leather sack. When he opened it, he realized that it really _was_ an old thing. Dalilah always encouraged him to get a new one, but he couldn't seem to part with it just yet.

He pulled out a crystal from inside the sack. "... you must use this to purify the water. If you boil the water with the stone in it, then your boy will receive the purest water the world has ever known."

"We can't afford it, my lord," said the mother, grief etched in the weary lines of her face. "I told you that I've already spent all that we had."

 _Have these people_ never _been shown kindness?_ "You needn't pay for this. I'm giving this to you," Malik stretched his hand out to the boy, crystal in hand. It glimmered in the daylight. Satin spar, it was called, or _selenah_ in Kalaraqi, a suitable name in both tongues. "Please, take it."

Hussain looked at his mother for approval, and her teary, brightened eyes smiled in response. He took it with shaky hands. "Why are you doing this, my lord?"

"Because it is what I'm meant to do," Malik replied. "Everyone has a duty, taking care of others is mine. Now, be good to your mother, you hear?" he chuckled, but the boy did not. He wouldn't forget the sudden strength in the boy's eyes, the foolish ferocity replaced with the newfound pride of a young man.

The mother escorted him and Khalid outside. "My lord?"

"Yes?"

"Where is it that you are from? Your features, they are foreign to me," she said, studying him from beneath the cover of his turban.

He smiled, pressing his palms together and bowing. "Be at peace." They departed, the woman left standing there in the doorway.

When they were far away, returning to the bazaar of Balbadd, Khalid spoke. "My l-lord, you do-do realize wh-what you've d-done, r-righ-right?" Malik snapped a glare at him, teasingly, of course. "I-I-I mean—I d-d-didn't mean to—forgive me!" he cried, bowing an apology.

Malik laughed. "Stand straight, boy, you haven't offended me. And, yes, I _do_ realize what I've done." _I know exactly what I've done._

"Th-That was _selenah_ that you ga-ave them! I-It's one of the most co-co-coveted gemstones in K-Kalaraq! H-How could you j-just hand it out so-so easily?"

"It wasn't easy, Khalid, but it was the right thing to do," Malik said. The words were like rocks in his mouth. "Justice is never easy, but it is justice nonetheless."

"B-But—the Treaty—"

"You will never speak of today's events, do you understand?"

Malik looked up, the palace coming into view once again.

"Y-Yes, my lord."

* * *

 _Faraz_

"I'm afraid I've broken the group."

"Nonsense. What you told us was very important. It's a blessing that you were able to find out about the beast and warn us."

"I suppose."

A silence.

"What is it, Rurumu?"

"I… I've been selfish."

"What do you mean?"

"I just want to keep Kikiriku safe… and the twins, I want to return to them. And our little one, Hinahoho, I want to protect them all, and I want to protect you and Mystras and Ja'Far and Sinbad but—but—" sobs tore Rurumu's voice asunder.

Faraz pitied them. Truly.

"Honey, it's okay," Hinahoho's voice was soft as ever through the bedroom door, left ajar. "That isn't selfish at all. We all want to protect each other. It means you love them. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"But how are we to go home? We don't have this _kalahm_ pass, and who knows what our being here could mean for us? As far as I've heard, there haven't been non-merchant foreigners here in thousands of years, Hinahoho. _Thousands_ of years!" she exclaimed. "What if… what if we can never go home?"

"I…"

He couldn't stand it anymore.

"There is a way for you to go home," Faraz said, pushing the door open as gently as he could. Before Hinahoho could protest, he explained "The ship that Dalilah is taking to Balbadd is leaving tomorrow, just before sunrise."

"But, we don't have a _kalahm_ pass," Hinahoho grumbled. "How is that going to work?"

"See, we considered taking you to the Par'Qalb, or the King himself. There was the chance that he would make plans for your return home, but… "

"But what?"

He couldn't bear to tell them what he feared the most, through Rurumu tried to pry it out of him. "Faraz, are you saying that—"

"I'm saying that your presence endangers not only yourselves but the rest of Kalaraq as well. There are many things that could change, regardless of whether you stay within or outside of the country's borders."

"So, we are a complication?" Rurumu asked.

 _An understatement._ "You could look at it that way."

"What should we do?" Hinahoho demanded, standing up from his seat on the bed. "Tell us, Faraz. We don't mean any harm, I know that you know that. You have our trust. Please, just tell us how we can go home." The urgency in Hinahoho's eyes was no illusion. But Faraz's next decision, would it be right? Was it right to tell them? Was it right? _Is it right? Am I wrong?_ _Think, Faraz. Think._

" _You'll help me protect him, right?"_

After what felt like forever, Faraz closed the door behind him, sealing his next few words from the rest of the world. "You will have to sneak onboard."

"Quit messing around."

"I'm serious," Faraz persisted. "The boat to Balbadd leaves only once per sun rotation. It is a strict schedule that The Fazid Bank established in accordance with the guidance of the other Kaleem Atriums around the country. The route to Balbadd is safest only at this time of year, and if you miss the boat tomorrow, you _will_ regret it." The couple exchanged nervous glances, Rurumu turning to look at Kikiriku sleeping soundly in a cane-woven cot.

"And if we get caught?"

Faraz's chest tightened. "That's a risk we may have to take. If you get caught onboard, then you will face the authorities. If you get caught here in Etor, then you will also have to face the authorities. But if you don't get caught onboard, you may have the chance to return home."

They were worried. They had every right to be, though. The thought of imperiling innocent people made Faraz's stomach turn as well, but Dalilah's schemes had to be intercepted.

Zahra would never forgive him for acting reclusively.

"Think about it," Faraz said. "It's up to you, but I just wanted to let you know that there _is_ an option."

Hinahoho nodded. "We will. Thank you, Faraz."

It was as though a great boulder was lifted off of his chest when Faraz stepped out into the hallway. Mystras had a good heart, that much was obvious. But he, as well as the others, didn't know what exactly their presence meant.

He scowled to himself. Who was he kidding? _Faraz_ didn't even know what their presence meant.

"You think that's a good idea?"

Faraz turned to Sinbad's voice. "Sinbad."

"So," he approached, arms crossed and eyes cold, "you think that it's safer for us to try and steal onto a Kalaraqi ship bound for Balbadd, a several months' trip, rather than at least _trying_ to meet with the authorities here?"

"It seems so," Faraz said. "But what do you think, Sinbad?"

"I think you should've come to me about this matter," he muttered. Faraz frowned. He didn't want to admit that his presence was rather unsettling. The long, loose, tumbling hair, eyes glowing as bright as the moon, the aura of a born leader that made Faraz feel as though he was constantly beset by an endearing power that was too good to be true.

Faraz faced him more properly. "Forgive me. I was just concerned for the family in your group. Endangering women and children is a criminal offense here. I'm trying to obey the law."

"And yet you are asking us to commit a crime," Sinbad snorted. "Just what exactly are you trying to do?"

"I'm trying to do what's best for this country," he said, doing his best to ignore the memories of Zahra's words, loud and real like she were shouting them in his ear.

"Well, it appears that you all have differing views about what is best for this country. Dalilah wants us to kill the beast, Rahwan wants us to bury our heads in the ground and disappear, and you want us to risk our lives in order to save them?" he shifted in his stance. "You people really are divided."

"Do you have a better idea?" Faraz challenged.

"Yes, in fact, I do: we should talk to the Par'Qalb or the King."

"You don't even know what the Par'Qalb is."

"I know you're about to tell me."

 _Fine, I'll entertain him_ , Faraz thought. _He'll be out of here soon, anyways._ "It's the King's private advisory council. Nobody knows who they are, but they are said to be the wisest people in the country. It's been bandied that they are even the wisest of the entire world," he explained.

"I see," Sinbad said. "And your biggest concern is that this Par'Qalb is going to decide to kill us, right?" Faraz felt his brow twitch at the cavalier tone. "I guess you don't have the spine to do that." _Asshole_. "Well, they have every right to want us dead. It only makes sense. If non-merchant foreigners are discovered in Kalaraq for the first time in thousands of years, things could definitely change. From the looks of it, you are a proud people, and none of you really want that. There's no shame in that, but I do believe that we can help turn things around here. I've seen the people in the Capital. They're tired, worn out from all the fruitless work that they do. You all want change, and yet you don't. But routine is dangerous. All states are bound to corrupt at some point," he ended his deluge. "But I bet you know that."

"Hm, well I can't argue with you," Faraz said with a chuckle, genuinely impressed by Sinbad's guile. "You think like a Kalaraqi, I'll give you that," the words were sour on his tongue, "but you haven't seen the way things are done here."

"Sure, but something tells me that you haven't seen them either."

A twinge of annoyance rustled in Faraz's chest. "Rumors are powerful, Sinbad."

"Rumors are just rumors, Faraz."

A beat of silence stung the air.

"Well, your ardour is commendable," said Sinbad. "I'm sure you have your reasons for wanting us out of here," he placed a hand on Faraz's shoulder, stepping past him as he did. "I can't quite figure out what Zahra's reasons are, though I'm sure they align with yours. Isn't that right?"

The firm, knowing grip on his shoulder confirmed the suspicions that Faraz had from the moment he laid eyes on him.

Solomon, how he hated it.

* * *

 _Zahra_

Zahra sneezed into the crook of her elbow. The sun was peeking over the treeline, and not a single cricket chirped in the village of Etor. It was a chilly morning, and even Zahra's _sufa_ robes did little to settle the goosebumps on her skin. It was distracting, the cold, and she groaned in frustration as she read the same paragraph from her tome ten times without gleaning a word of understanding. Perhaps her dedicated reading spot wasn't ideal today. The dark, moss-covered stone steps that led down to her front door were colder than the air, but she refused to break tradition of reading Ay'vedic scripts anywhere else.

She shook her head, as though it would help her forget the cold. _Focus, Zahra._ The Ay'veda examination was only in a few weeks' time, and as always, she left preparation to the very last minute.

"Every human being is made only of five basic elements: air, water, fire, earth, and space… yeah, yeah, got it," Zahra mumbled to herself. Bihzad had drilled that into her from the time she could crawl. " _Air, water, fire, earth, space, Zahra! That's all you need to know! Everything else is pretty much unimportant,_ " she scowled at the memories of his lectures. " _Well, except for the Doshi. You need to know about the Doshi, kid."_

"It is these five elements that create the _doshi_ : _Doshi Val_ , composed of space and air, _Doshi Pia_ , composed of fire and water, and _Doshi Kehf_ , composed of earth and water. The _doshi_ are quintessential parts of the human body, and each manages different functions. The combination of the _doshi_ within the body varies from person to person, tribe to tribe, country to country. Some people are _Dosh Valiena_ , meaning that the _Dosh Val_ is their main _doshi_. These people are dynamic characters, energetic, creative, and lively. Others are _Dosh Pianna_ , meaning that the _Dosh Pia_ is their main _doshi_. These people are assertive, fiery in temperament, determined, and highly intelligent."

"Studying hard, I see," said her mother as she approached, a cup of tea steaming hot in her hands and definitely made just the way Zahra preferred it. "Which of the group do you think is _Dosh Pianna,_ hm?"

"Ja'Far," she said as she accepted the tea hastily, the burn of it easing down her throat like _arrack_ when she sipped from it. "He's been angry this entire time."

"Yes, well, we often see in others what we see in ourselves," said Mother as she sat down on the steps beside her. "Or have you learned nothing from your philosophy studies?"

"My philosophy studies taught me that foreign power is poisonous power, Mother," Zahra asserted, "and that some waters can encourage a fire rather than extinguish it." She sipped her tea, hoping to calm her anger. "Why did you get the foreigners involved?"

"Because we need their help, _golnessa_ ," she explained. "Do you really think that all this studying will be worth anything in the future? The beast is drawing out all of Kalaraq's resources, manpower, weaponry, and research. The people won't allow this country to return to its former glory until they know that they are safe."

"People are selfish like that."

"It's natural. It's instinct."

"It's stupid," her fingers tensed around the teacup. " _This_ is stupid."

"Guard your tongue," Mother snapped, placing a firm hand on her daughter's. "These boys are the best thing that has happened to this country in a long, long time, and you know it. Things are going to change around here, and I only hope that I've steered those changes in a good direction."

Zahra stared into her stone cup, loosely admiring the mist dancing over the amber tea. She knew things were going to change. She knew that these boys were going to be a part of that change. "But, there's no predicting _what_ they were going to do. What if they expose Kalaraq to the rest of the world? What if fleets from Kou and Balbadd and Parthevia suddenly appear at our docks? What if they tear this island apart and take the nobles as hostage and steal all of our magic tools and take all the hard work that we've made into building this country from nothing just for themselves and what if—what if—"

 _What if they really_ do _kill Ruaagi?_

"Solomon, child!" her mother laughed suddenly. "For a girl so reckless you certainly are paranoid!"

"I just," Zahra started, her eyes lingering over the tome in her lap, _Advanced Ay'veda: Level 5_ , scribbled on the curve of the paper. "I just want things to stay as they are."

Her eyes lifted when she felt warm, familiar palms cup her face. "Zahra, my _golnessa,_ " Mother gently urged her to meet her gaze. "Your father and I are not going to be around forever. I want you to be taken care of, not by a husband, not by your brother, but by yourself. You cannot do this unless the world around you is safe and prosperous. All that has happened is by Solomon's will, so let it be. Don't try to intercept fate, accept it instead," she tucked a strand of hair behind Zahra's ear, back and out of her solemn face. "Everything is going to be okay."

She paused, gazing at her mother's coiled locks of maroon, pale but rosy skin, and sharp, ocean eyes. Now more than ever, Zahra cursed fate for curtailing such striking beauty from her. "Do you really have to go?"

"Yes, dear. Your father can't live without me, you know?" she chuckled. "He is my _minha_. That's why he's fallen sick, well, according to Elias, and Elias always knows best. I must go to your father. You understand, don't you?"

 _Fate, huh?_ "Yes, Mother."

"Good. Now, lets go wake the others—"

"Wait, do you hear that?" Zahra looked up from her seat on the stairs, peering to the streets above. The sound of _Dir_ rang with every round of synchronized footsteps echoing off houses. Then Zahra saw the _Baideh_ helmets, egg-shaped but pointed like Rahwan said they were, brandished with gold and topping the heads of men—huge men—marching in formation with spears in their armored hands, swords in their leather sheaths. The dark, dead eyes of one of the men bore into her own, and her heart threatened to explode out of her chest with fear.

 _Soldiers?_

"It's the Raqh Guard!" someone cried out.

"What?" another whispered. "The hell is the Raqh Guard doing here?"

"I wanna see, mommy!" a child whined.

"They've never set foot in Etor before," a man told his wife.

"Go inside, sweetheart. Take your baby brother to his room," a mother warned.

People were emerging from their homes, apprehension dousing their faces as they watched the soldiers march through the street through tarnished window grilles and gated door frames.

"Mother?" Zahra said suddenly, "Don't the Raqh Guard mainly operate within the Capital?" but her mother's blank, confused expression meant that she barely heard her. "What's going on?"

"I'm not sure, Zahra," she said, "but let's go inside. Quickly now," she pushed Zahra to her feet, tapping at her back until they both scurried inside and closed the front door behind them.

"Hey, what's with the drums? It's still so early," Mystras yawned, walking into the entrance room. "Wait, is something wrong?"

"What's going on?" Ja'Far asked as he, Hinahoho, and Sinbad emerged from their rooms as well.

"I-I don't know," Zahra fumbled on the words, her tongue turning to cotton in her mouth.

"This hasn't happened before, Ja'Far," her mother tried to explain. "But we should stay inside. Everyone, hurry to your rooms—"

"We call for the attention of all villagers of Etor!" a great voice suddenly boomed. Zahra bounded for one of the _jalis_ , ignoring the ensuing scolds of her mother. Amidst the dust of their approach was the mass of soldiers whose gleaming armor and fine, brocade silks were now perfectly visible right outside of her home. She could see the King's sigil, an olive-silver python, embroidered into their banners and slithering down their robes. She thanked Solomon that the soldiers weren't facing her house, and only standing in the middle of the street. They faced nobody in particular but declared their presence to them all. Her brown eyes widened as a man appeared from behind the ranks, passing through the soldiers. At first, Zahra assumed he was on horseback since he was floating forward at a greater height than the sea of _Baideh_ helmets. Instead, she was stunned to numbness to see him appear at the front of the ranks riding—

" _A koti!_ " a child cried, and the animal reared its head at the sound of its name.

"Could it be?"

"So some of them _did_ survive the attacks of the beast."

"Yeah, stolen from the jungle as weapons for the Idle King."

Zahra watched as the man pressed his heels into the sides of the animal, urging it to move forward. It growled in response, but began slowing creeping around the street, passing homes and villagers and scaring stray dogs into an instinctual, desperate retreat. Its shoulder blades moved up and down, black stripes stretching and contracting with a fur so white that Zahra believed it might've been whiter than the clouds.

"Fear not!" the man atop the _koti_ cried, holding the reigns around the animal's leather muzzle tight in his bare hands. "We are the Awal Ranks of the Raqh Guard, and we come in peace! _Hirei qamar taraa!"_

" _Hirei qamar taraa!"_ the soldiers cried back in spellbinding unison.

"Mother!" Rahwan's loud, panicked voice approached. "What—"

Everyone shushed him.

"It has come to our attention that there are foreigners in this village, a phenomenon quite unusual, as you all would know." Whispers broke out immediately. "Four men have been taken note of, all hailing from different parts of the world. They are a diverse group, and are very difficult to miss. We do not know how these men have entered into Kalaraq, since there is no record of them registering for a _kalahm_ or ever having correspondence with any organizations or councils of significance in Kalaraq, including The Fazid Bank, the Par'Qalb, and His Grace, The Ninth Anointed King of the Dibaevaal Dynasty, King Aarzan, _Rahmi'vanh Solomon._ "

" _Rahmi'vanh Solomon,_ " the words escaped Zahra's lips with ease.

"We also reason to believe that some villagers here are hosting these foreigners in their home."

Zahra's heart stopped. She whipped around to see Ja'Far gazing at her with such disapprobation she almost couldn't be angry at it. Mystras was as pale as a ghost, and Hinahoho quickly disappeared to find his wife and son.

"We know nothing about these men, thus we have deemed them as dangerous criminals until decided otherwise. If anybody here is aware of the foreigners' whereabouts, we implore that you bring forth this information. Those who are hosting the men will be confronted for their crimes, which include the harboring of illegal residents of the Kingdom of Kalaraq."

 _Criminals? Illegal residents?_ Zahra thought frantically. _But, they're harmless! What will happen to Mother, Rahwan, what about Father? Faraz?_

"However, if the hosts bring forth the criminals now, they will immediately be pardoned for these crimes of their own from this day until the end of days."

Sinbad's gaze met hers from across the room, and she knew that he was thinking about those last few words just as she was. They both knew he had to go. It was better this way. Mother wouldn't get what she wanted, but that was okay, too. He'd be indebted to her, but did that really matter? Everything would go back to how it was before he—before they—came. Everything would be alright again.

But he smiled at her, a somber, defeated, indelible kind of smile, and it was as though everything she believed, everything she had faith in, everything that remained constant and stable in her life shattered right before her eyes.

Before she could stop him, before she could muster the words "Don't go!", before she could even comprehend her sudden desire to make him stay, he was already out the door.

* * *

 _Faraz_

 _About 10 years ago…_

"Okay, kids, gather around!" Bihzad exclaimed. "Come on, come on, hurry now! We have little time to cover the last of this material."

The grass beneath Faraz's thighs was tickly and soft. He didn't always enjoy sitting outside, but the breeze was nice today and the skies were as clear as ever. The other kids sat down around him, cross-legged with _kaleem_ pads in their hands. Bihzad, sitting against the Wisdom Tree, slapped his knees with impatience as the rest of the children settled around him in the shade.

"Boo!" a voice cried, hands gripping Faraz's shoulders. He jolted at the sensation, even though he already knew who it was. He always fell for it.

"Zahra!" he exclaimed as the girl plopped down beside him. "Why do you always hafta do that?"

"'Cause it's fun," she said plainly. Her impish grin showed no apology for her actions. "Anyways," she looked this way and that, her voice stooping to a whisper as she spoke into his ear, "I have something super, super important to tell you!"

"Why the heck are you whispering?"

"Because it makes what I'm going to tell you later—not now—later, sound like a secret mission! Don'tcha think?" she giggled. "I think we should start whispering from now on, then we're like characters in a story that have a mission to accomplish and we'll be really cool and—"

"Zahra!" Bihzad exclaimed.

"Ah! Yes, sir!" she responded obediently, snapping out of her daydream and scrambling to her feet.

"Please, be quiet! I shouldn't have to keep telling you this!" Abashed by the snickers of her peers, Zahra sat down again, arms crossed right below her pouty lips. "Alright class, turn on your _kaleem_ pads, and lets get started with today's lesson."

Faraz looked down at the device in his lap. It was rectangular, about the length of his forearm and half as wide. It was pretty heavy, but nothing that a seven-year-old couldn't handle. He instinctively pressed the power button at the top, just a _click_ and the screen came alive in his hands. A gentle orange light appeared as each child turned their _kaleem_ pad on, _click_ , _click_ , _click_. The words that appeared on the surface were in Torran, for everyone already knew the common tongue. Even so, Faraz struggled with it. The sentences were scrambled, some characters switching in and out, the shapes changing right in front of his eyes. It made his head hurt.

"Professor Bihzad?" Faraz raised his hand.

"Hm?"

"What does this say? The lesson title, I mean. What is it?"

"Geez, Faraz, it says 'Kinetic and Potential Energy'" said Zahra. "I thought you said you worked on your Torran!" she scolded, the admonishment burning a hole in Faraz's heart.

"Now, now, Torran isn't easy for everyone," explained Bihzad. "Don't worry, Faraz, you'll get the hang of it soon enough."

"Yes, sir," he said. The defeat in his tone was more explicit than he would've preferred.

"Alright, class," he announced, "Observe this." Faraz's eyes snapped up to see the stone in Bihad's hand. "Now, who here thinks that this stone has any energy? Those who do, raise your hands."

Not a single child raised their hand.

"Well, that's where you are wrong, class!" Bihzad exclaimed. "This stone _does_ have energy. Sure, it's not moving right now, but because I'm holding it up like this, it has what is called potential energy. In other words, this stone has the potential to have kinetic energy, or rather, its energy is stored. Potential energy is affected by an object's position in relation to its surroundings or even the forces within itself. Now, if I drop the stone," he dropped it, the stone disappearing between blades of grass, "the stone gains kinetic energy as it falls!"

Zahra nudged him in the side. Before Faraz could scowl in response, she hastily leaned over to whisper "See? Not everything is as it seems! Just like Father said."

Faraz rolled his eyes. "Would you stop saying that? It's not even true—"

"Shh!" one of the children, Nassir, hushed him.

"Faraz!" Bihzad exclaimed suddenly. "Heads up!"

The pebble came whirling towards him and _smack_ , made a direct hit on his forehead. The world was blurring and his vision became smothered with blossoms of black spots. He opened his eyes groggily, back against the grass, to see a concerned Zahra peaking over him, her braids drooping so that they almost brushed his cheeks.

"Woah, that was hard! Are you okay?" she asked.

"Ow," he moaned, sitting up while rubbing his forehead. "What was that for, Professor?"

" _That_ was a perfect example of kinetic energy!" his laugh reminded Faraz of thunder. "Just like when I dropped the stone, it also had kinetic energy when I threw it at you—the energy of movement! Does everyone understand?"

"Yes, sir!" the entire class chirped.

"Good! Now then, let's look at your _kaleem_ pads, yeah? There will be a question on the screen as well as an associated diagram. There are four answers to choose from, so select the one that you believe is correct! Remember, if you're having trouble with the Torran, try to figure it out on your own before trying to figure it out with a peer, and if it comes to it, you may ask me for help."

Faraz turned down to his screen. An animation of a boy throwing an overhead ball flashed black against the orange, and above was the question. "W-What example of energy is being de-demon, no demonstrated in this, um, imaginary—no, image?" he said it aloud. He found that it helped him whenever the Torran 'jumped'. "Potent—Potential energy, k-kinetic energy, both potential and kinetic energy, and these—then—"

"'There is not enough information to answer this question,'" Zahra said a-matter-of-factly. "What do you think the answer is?"

"Um," Faraz scratched his head. "I think it's kinetic energy."

"Really?" Zahra frowned. "Confused."

"What did you wanna tell me?"

"Oh," she whispered, her attention snapping from the lesson like a branch under a foot. "it's about the jungle!"

"Gosh, not again," he whispered back. Would she _ever_ stop rambling about the jungle? She always had a way of mentioning it in their conversations, doing so for as long as he could remember. But these days, she's been speaking about it nonstop. Her incessant chattering about the jungle—the place where nobody is to go and should not be talked about in public—was driving him up the wall.

"No, for real, it's important this time!" she insisted. "Have you ever thought about, you know, why nobody has gone to the jungle?"

"Are you dumb? Nobody goes to the jungle anymore because people get killed!"

"But, don'tcha think that's kinda weird, Faraz? I mean, don'tcha think that—do you think it's really that dangerous? You know, the beast… " His stomach turned. How on earth could she be talking to him about that thing? How could a hothead like her be so cold? Faraz gripped the pad in his hands, and Zahra must have noticed his discomfort. She turned away. "Nevermind, I'll tell you later."

"Alright, time's up! Submit your answers, everyone!"

Faraz pressed a button on the side of the pad, _click_ , and the device hummed once in his fingers. "I got it wrong," he moaned, dismayed that he didn't get the second buzz.

 _Buzz buzz._

Faraz turned to the sound beside him.

"Lets see, how many of you got two buzzes?" Bihzad asked. Nobody put their hand up. "Ah, that's alright! It was a tricky question anyways. You see, class, the ball has both potential _and_ kinetic energy! Not only is it moving horizontally, but it also has the potential to move vertically—downwards, because of gravity!"

One of the children, Dinah, raised her hand. "Professor, Zahra got it right! I heard the two buzzes from her _kaleem_."

"Smarty-pants."

"How does she always get the answer?"

" _So_ not fair."

Even though the other children weren't, Faraz was proud of her. He poked her flushed cheek."Nice one, Z!" A giddy smile spread across her lips.

He really liked that smile.

* * *

(shameless advertising, i.e. the things I do for Keith)

J.U.N.K.

of Voltron: Legendary Defender

Raeni looked up at her right leg on the table. Mechanical, cold, lifeless, but beautiful, intelligent, and as powerful as ever. When she had legs like those, legs that she built herself, legs that she could actually be proud of, who needed real legs? It didn't matter how she ended up this way. It didn't matter that she would never be the same as most other humans. It didn't matter.

* * *

"You can't—you _can't_ _!_ "

"I can, and I _will."_

* * *

"Don't you get tired of it all?"

She wouldn't forget the way Lance smiled at her. "Tired? Why would I be tired of my family?"

* * *

Keith scowled. "You're such an idiot. You are dead. Don't you see that? Look at you!" He said, ripping at two-way magnum cords and the nanoscale dockers she had been working on for movements on end. The metal smacked the ground ringing, lifeless, useless. She winced as tingles of pain shot through her hips and up to the tip of her skull, the delicate, makeshift nerves snapping at the will of his fingers. Numbness overcame the lower half of her body. "You can't even defend yourself! You're just nuts and bolts attached to a worthless, broken body! Do you see what I'm saying?" He frowned, pressing his forehead against hers, blue eyes blazing with an anger so ferocious she truly feared for her life. "You're nothing without your legs!" He was screaming now. Her right eye blurred. "Do you hear me, Raeni? You are nothing. _NOTHING_!"

* * *

"How can you trust her? She's a weapon!"

"Do you think I really give a crap about that?"

* * *

 _What the hell am I, anyways?_

* * *

A/N: Guys. Oh my gosh. I literally went MIA for almost 4 months. School's been a bit crazy, and honestly more than anything, I really got disappointed with my writing and my style. I needed a break, and I wanted to take time to read more books and get more cultured before going back to this. I hope my writing didn't take a turn for the worse, but, I can only hope!

Anyways. I made a lot, as in a LOT, of changes. They aren't super significant, but I've added details in that I should've sorted out long ago.

Academia center = Kaleem Atrium

 **Chapter 2: 'Sinbad, my son' - Sinbad hears a voice calling out to him at sea.  
Chapter 5: Kalaraq is big on seafood! Small wonder, it is an island. Also, introduction to the Gate (more on that Chapter 9)!  
Chapter 7: See hut scene with Sinbad and Zahra, something tells Sinbad her name.  
Chapter 8: NO MORE PARI POV! I'm so sorry, I hated it. It felt so forced, so I just got rid of it. Sorry, Pari (I mean, Dalilah). Also, Ja'Far hasn't gone bonkers yet.  
Chapter 9: Academia center scene - see a real _kalahm_ pass as well as Bihzad's (Balbir's) speaking about the storms around Kalaraq and how the _kalahms_ and the Gate work.**

I think the only chapters worth re-reading (in terms of the scenes I described above) would be **8 and 9**. I believe some of you pointed out how the characters' reactions were exaggerated, and I totally agree, so I tried to smoothen out the transition from 'something's up' to absolute 'wtf' (hopefully) with the 'wtf' being in this chapter obviously haha. Now, Ja'Far is the only one who expresses worry/contempt, ya know? Let me know if I messed anything up/inconsistencies/etc, I do have a terrible memory.

Anyways, I'm starting to introduce this idea of a caste system. You might notice it since I updated all (literally every single one) chapters now, and so there are references to _patuli_ and _ihala_ and _kulayas_ , so keep an eye out for that! ;) There are lots of unexplained things, I know, but everything will reveal itself in due time.

Additionally, you might be wondering why I changed so many names. You see, I'm a little dumb, and totally forgot that the majority of the characters in Magi are named with reference to the Arabian Nights or actual characters in history. Unfortunately, Rohan, Lakita, and Pari, are not mentioned in the Arabian Nights (which I prefer for now), so I switched them up to something that gave off the same 'feel', but let me know what you think! Too much? Should I switch em' back? I know they were good names, but you know... I couldn't bear to change Faraz or Zahra, so they're probably gonna stick hehe (thank goodness, right?)

 **Review Responses:**

Anna: HELLO AGAIN! I'm glad you're enjoying the interactions between the characters, and I'm surprised you like Ja'Far's POVs, that's reassuring :) Also, keep that in mind, ya know, that thing about the original Fanalis... i'm not saying anything but...

Guest: Heyo! I AGREE, Sinbad does deserve more love, and honestly I agree that the complexity of his character makes Magi absolutely superb. I hope to enjoy ripping him apart and putting him back together in this fic ehehe. I'm glad you like my descriptions! They do tend to get quite rambly, and I actually cut out a lot of clutter in this update with my past chapters. Yeah, I tend to be the person that really likes detailed books, so that's what comes out in my writing. Also, yes, Zahra is rather interesting! Also, as a general note, Zahra is pretty difficult to understand. So difficult, at some points, in fact, it almost seems _purposeful_... (wink wink) just keep an eye out :)

ALSO - I definitely recommend **COURAGE** by SumikotheGREAT! It's really amazing so far, and deserves much more credit! Her writing style is superb and I like the interactions between her OC and the other characters. Definitely a worthwhile read :) ALSO **Riptide** by starlitwatersong, I love it so far! Hmm, I haven't finished Enigma yet, but I like it so far, I'm sure you've read it though!b

Guest: Glad you like the interactions! They are a bit difficult to craft, but I hope they continue to please!

Guest: Omg thank you! :)

Thank you guys so, so much for your support. I really am beginning to fall in love with Magi again, and I'm growing more comfortable with writing and this story day by day (and also, I've recently got into Voltron, quite, quite hard. Dammit, Keith. See the advertising hehee at the bottom of the fic). I really want to apologize for the lateness of this chapter AND all the updates, I know it's confusing :( But I hope you guys stick with me through this, things are starting to get interesting!

Love you guys,

~AVA


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